Because the Sky is Blue
by astral symphony
Summary: "She needed him and his looks. And he couldn't take it back, either. Because she made him listen to Abbey Road with her, and he didn't say a word." Another love-story. JPLE.
1. Prologue

**Because the Sky is Blue | Prologue**

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><p>She didn't care anymore.<p>

_She_ kissed _him_.

She was kissing him. He was kissing back, but uncertainly so. That frustrated her.

Her tongue was treated to the sweet, menthol taste of the cigarette he had been smoking but ten minutes before. She wondered what she tasted like to him, if he was even aware of what was going on. He was hardly responsive, as if his mind had shut down and it no longer occurred to him to touch her back, to _really_ kiss her back.

But she wanted this, because it didn't matter anymore. They shared wine and cigarettes and secrets. She didn't need to pretend around him or uphold this asinine reputation she clung to for six-going-on-seven years. She wasn't just Lily Evans, Head Girl to him. He didn't look at her like she was the picture of perfection

She pushed him against the nearest wall, snatching his angle-obstructing glasses off his face before settling her hands on his chest. She bunched up his shirt in her fists while he held onto her shoulders, not daring to move his hands. She didn't like his reluctance, but she figured she would make up for the both of them and pushed her mouth against his even harder.

Because earlier, when she lay on her back on the hard floor of the office, she would catch his eye. And she would see the look he gave her. She was just a seventeen-year-old girl to him. None of those other things mattered, the look said.

His resolve was weakening and he started to kiss her, _finally_. Really kiss her. Swallowing her up and tasting her and touching her. Her fingers moved of their own accord, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, not daring to move her mouth from his.

The silence in the room was broken only by the ragged breathing, heavy. The record had ended ages ago. That's when she knew she didn't care about anything else anymore. And maybe it had been the two glasses of wine and the nicotine that made her head swim, but all she could think was that they just listened to Abbey Road and those looks he gave her were real and she _felt_ real and infinite and _that's_ when she did it, kissed him.

She had just finished with his buttons, running fingers over his abdomen, and had moved her mouth to his jaw line, kissing him all the way to his ear, where she nibbled at and breathed into his ear. Her palms flat against his stomach, she could feel the intake of breath when she did this. His hands tightened around her shoulders again.

"We can't," he breathed.

"Why?" she whispered into his ear, though she knew what was coming.

"Because you're with –"

And she wasn't sure what possessed her to say it, but very hastily she cut him off with a sharp, "I'm not."

The words were out and there was no taking them back and she could almost hear his mind turning over the information. But she didn't care. It didn't matter. She wanted to keep kissing him, tasting the bitter red wine and the menthol cigarettes and feeling his skin under her hands. She needed him and his looks.

And he couldn't take it back, either.

Because she made him listen to Abbey Road with her, and he didn't say a word.


	2. Chapter One

**Because the Sky is Blue | Chapter One **

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><p>There were three things that could be said for the first day of school.<p>

The first regarded the inevitability of at least three First Years sobbing in a stairwell for one or more of the following reasons: he was lost; he missed his mum, or sibling, or dog, or goldfish; he was frightened of being un-sortable; or he was shaken up by the mere presence of McGonagall and wanted to run off and live a simple Muggle life.

The second first-day marker was the presence of insufferable reunions. This was generally characterized by squealing girls showing off their new head scarves or earrings or the absolutely _lovely_ new top they bought in Firenze/Paris/Greece/any-number-of-enviable-overseas-locations. There was also gruff chattering from the male population: "Carole-Anne and I got together over the summer, if you know what I mean." "Charmed the pants off this Muggle in London. I don't care what you say, but Muggle birds know how to shag." (And so forth.)

Thirdly, it was a universal understanding that detention would be issued to any combination of the following students: Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter.

This tradition had begun in their own first year, with Black and Potter. (Pettigrew was more of the stairwell sobbing variety in his younger years, while Lupin had a clear head on his shoulders.) Their antics have stood the test of time, dating all the way back to September, 1971: their first Welcoming Feast. An hour into the Feast, McGonagall was shouting something about disgracing Gryffindor so soon into the year and assigned a week's worth of detention. Second year, Pettigrew was added to the mix and got detention with Black and Potter. Third and fourth years it was all four of them, the self-proclaimed Marauders now regarded in infamy at Hogwarts. Fifth year was something special: it was only Potter who received a detention. (He thought it would be funny to shout something about Evans' knickers and her then-boyfriend's flaccid phallus that made McGonagall blanche and Evans blush something fierce, while the four fifteen-year-old boys were keeled over with laughter.) Last year it was back to the Pettigrew-Black-Potter Trifecta of Trouble, the three of them receiving well-earned detentions after transfiguring some of the new students' pumpkin juice into something a little stronger. It was a mess: drunk First Years hiccupping and shouting across the Great Hall while Dumbledore began to deliver his speech.

"_I'ss DUMBLEDORE,"_ one of them had shouted.

"He's on a Chocolate Frog card! I HAVE FIVE OF HIM!"

A rowdy chant of "AL-BUS! DUM-BLE-DORE!" was currently being conducted by a chubby, sandy-haired boy.

(And so forth.)

The Pettigrew-Black-Potter Trifecta argued that they were just trying to loosen the First Years up. "Did you see them sitting there, looking like their eyes were going to pop out their skulls because they were so nervous? Really, Professor, we were doing them a favor."

"_Detention_."

_xxx_

This year was already different, Lily Evans noted, and it hadn't even properly begun.

Platform 9 ¾ was, although still bustling with hellos and goodbyes, was decidedly less packed than normal. As a student going into her last year, she expected an onslaught of familiar faces – but a portion of students were missing. She looked around King's Cross, stationary with her trunk on a cart beside her, eyebrows furrowed.

Cyril had mentioned this might happen. Living in a wizarding community, her boyfriend was far more apt to hear the goings-on of families than she was. He wrote to her throughout the summer and mentioned several families who were hesitant to allow their children to return to Hogwarts in the fall.

_The war is bad, Lil. I know you get the Prophet delivered to you, but they are sparing the real details_, he had written. _These "disappearances" are more than that. Whoever this You-Know-Who bloke is, he's bad news and he's getting more powerful. _

Of course, she knew that. Even in the Muggle news, there were inexplicable happenings that she knew the Dark Arts had a hand in. There were entire families gone missing, or worse, found dead without any understandable cause-of-death. (Although she knew it to be the Killing Curse, undetectable by Muggles.) More than that, though, the weather was frequently reporting unseasonably chilly temperatures, a constant mist seeming to surround them. Fierce storms with record-breaking winds and hurricane-rains rampaged through the hillsides of hers and neighboring towns. Buildings were crashing all around, forests crumbling, and all the while the poor Prime Minister is trying, in vain, to pick up the pieces.

There was never any report of this in the Prophet. In fact, there was never much report at all. All summer long, she read through each issue carefully, sometimes more than once, just to find out what her friends and peers were dealing with on their end. The most threatening articles were about these elusive disappearances Cyril mentioned. But from his letters, it sounded like there was more going on than the media cared to share. It appeared that the Minister of Magic was equally unsuccessful at reigning in the terror.

With all the worry about who she would see at school, who would be okay, whose families suffered from these euphemistic disappearances, it made it impossible for her to even worry about the fact that she was made Head Girl and that, McGonagall's letter informed her, James Potter would be sharing these responsibilities as Head Boy.

"All right, Evans?" a voice shouted at her, breaking her careful census of the returning Hogwarts students.

Lily snapped her head in the direction of the voice, only to find the unruly-haired Head Boy heading towards her. She wondered briefly is the boy had her on a special radar: somehow, he always managed to come across her before any of her friends.

"Oh, yes, hello. You haven't seen Cyril, have you?" she inquired briefly.

"Congratulations on Head Girl," James said through a grin, ignoring her question.

"Right. Thanks." She paused, begrudgingly adding: "You, too."

"I'm not surprised, though. I don't think anyone is. About you, I mean." He combed his fingers through his hair, succeeding only in making it messier. She rolled her eyes.

"The fact that you made Head Boy will provide enough shock for everyone, I'm sure."

"Wrote to McGonagall herself to make sure this wasn't some bizarre attempt at a joke." His hands found their way to his pockets and he shifted onto his heels. She eyed him suspiciously. Usually in this time frame, he would have made at least one crude reference to her chest or arse and asked her out a minimum of two times.

"You don't suppose there's a chance it's still a joke? Maybe the punch line hasn't been delivered yet?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope. It's definitely me. And I'll have you know, I'm actually excited."

Her eyes narrowed. "Excited? You? To be Head Boy?" James smirked and nodded, shrugging modestly. "Listen, Potter," she started firmly, "I don't know what you're playing at or what you've got up your sleeve, but this isn't a joke to me. I've spent six years working my arse off to get here and I'm not about to have you ruin it by making a mockery of it, all right? This isn't a built-in get-out-of-jail-free card for you and your friends, if that's what you're thinking." Satisfied, she crossed her arms taut across her chest and stared levelly at him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. She watched him carefully. For a moment, it was almost as if he looked offended. The sentiment passed quickly, though, and he snorted at her, mussing up his hair some more. "Cool your knickers, Evans. I'm not planning on abusing the sacred Hogwarts Head Boy Power."

"I'm serious, Potter. This is a job and we've got a responsibility to the students and the school – and Dumbledore. So don't botch it up, all right? I'm not going to have you making me look bad."

"I'm serious, too. I don't know if you've heard, but I've been Quidditch Captain for the past two years – I know how to lead students and I know about having responsibilities –"

"Oh, yes, because telling six students how to chase some bloody balls on brooms is quite the same as –"

"Would you _relax_?" he all but shouted. She was quiet, an eyebrow raised. He spoke more calmly now, voice resting at a proper decibel for conversation. "_Fuck_, Evans, you drive me up a wall sometimes. I didn't even _do_ anything and you're telling me off."

"You're _mocking _me!"

He let out a quick laugh and shook his head. She threw him a look of utter contempt, pursing her lips together in attempt to refrain from throwing any number of curses at him.

"I found your boyfriend," he said, nodding at the space behind her. She blinked, thrown off guard, and stared questioningly at him. He turned on his heel and started to walk away. "See you, Evans," he said in his wake, throwing a hand up in what he considered a justified wave.

Lily just stood there, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in confusion. Not only had the damn boy refrained from asking her out, but he didn't even say anything cruel about the approaching Cyril Cooper. In fact, he _left_. Turned around and left. Not even a word about how she should dump the poor sod. It could almost be said that he was acting, and she shuddered at the thought, with consideration. If this were the case, she mused, the entire basis of their non-friendship was being demolished. He couldn't go around treating her like a decent human, because what would her role then become? She frowned. No. It was much easier to have him quip about how nice her chest looks in her jumper and then suggest they go shag in a broom closet. The proper retort to such suggestions is one she's familiar with: throw around some insults and maybe a curse or two for good measure, depending on her mood and how insufferable he had been.

She never knew a relatively civil conversation could leave her feeling so unsettled. Thankfully, Lily was drawn from her thoughts by familiar arms snaking their way around her waist. She smiled instantly and turned around in the hold. Foregoing any verbal hellos, she pressed her lips to his in a friendly, albeit slightly less-than-chaste kiss.

"Good morning to you, too. Although I have to wonder what our fellow students are going to think about their Head Girl if she goes around issuing greetings like that."

She leaned back in Cyril's arms to look at his face, matching the smirk that was playing across his boyish features. She fondly took in the freckles across his cheeks and nose, a result of his Irish blood and sun-exposure. Probably playing Quidditch with his sisters, she thought with a smile. "Probably that their Head Girl is something of a slag. In any case, she'll be saving such greetings for boyfriends only."

"Ahh. Boyfriends plural?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, clear blue eyes sparkling amusedly.

Lily laughed. "Mm. In fact," she said, raising her right arm to look at a non-existent watch, "I'm meeting Boyfriend Number Two in approximately ten minutes, followed swiftly by Boyfriend Number Three. I'm a busy girl."

"You sure are. But if I've only got ten minutes, I'm going to use them wisely." Cyril went in to kiss her again, but she leaned back.

"Help with my trunk?"

"Then can I kiss you?"

"That can be negotiated," she said, grinning and pulling from his arms, grabbing the front end of her trunk while Cyril secured his hold at back. He was walking backwards while she steered them in the direction of the luggage car. Her eyes took in the appearance of his arms, the muscles and tendons shifting against his skin. He caught her staring and let out a laugh.

"I don't appreciate being treated like a piece of meat."

"I'm Head Girl – I can do what I please!" she retorted, smiling widely.

"I'm reporting an abuse of power to Dumbledore the second we step foot in that castle." They lowered the trunk to the ground, alongside all the other trunks and cages that were waiting to be loaded into the luggage car. She reached for his hand as they retreated to the back of the Hogwarts Express, where students were already beginning to file in.

"You wouldn't!"

"You'll have to convince me otherwise."

"Shouldn't be difficult. I can be very convincing." Lily smirked as she felt herself being pulled backwards, once more finding her nose to his neck. She looked up, shaking the hair from her eyes.

"Prove it, if you're so certain." She stood on tiptoe to press a chaste kiss to his lips before stepping away. "_Lily_," he groaned, unable to keep the smile off his face nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Cy! I've got to go and snag a compartment and round up the Prefects!" She laughed as she took in his dejected look. "I'll make it up to you later," Lily insisted. "And I have a record I want you to listen to. It's my absolute favorite."

"You said that about the last rubbish bloke you made me listen to."

She wrinkled her nose. "Lou Reed is not rubbish. _Anyway_, that was just my then-favorite. This one's special. It's my _always_-favorite. Just say you'll listen?"

Cyril grinned. "You know I can't say no to you, Lily. Now, get out of here before you're late! Don't want to go around giving students the wrong impression."

_xxx_

The significance of Marlene McKinnon's absence was not lost on him, despite having known weeks ago that her return to Hogwarts was going to be delayed.

It was Sirius Black who received the owl from Marlene in the middle of August. He was in the middle of a one-on-one Quidditch match with James when a tawny bird came swooping alongside him, pestering him with sharp pecks of its beak. Neither he nor James recognized the owl, and so, with curiosity catching the better of them, they landed and dismounted, unfurling the curl of parchment attached to the bird's leg. The letter was concise in its wording, unattached, simply a quick scrawl of ink across parchment:

_S – Death Eater attack. I'm okay. Mum & Dad are in bad shape. St. Mungo's, please come. –M._

"Fuck," Sirius swore quietly. He couldn't say he was entirely too surprised at this news, however. The McKinnons were well-known Aurors. The Minister himself had been trying to appoint Oliver McKinnon head of the Auror's Office since the beginning of this bloody war. For reasons unbeknownst to anyone but himself, and perhaps his wife, McKinnon continued to politely decline.

"What does she mean, 'bad shape?'" James asked, eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the parchment from over his friend's shoulder.

"Dunno," he answered briefly, starting to take off his Quidditch gear.

"Want company?"

"No. I don't – I'm sure she'd – I don't want to overwhelm her."

"They'll be all right," James assured quietly. "The whole lot of them – they're strong. Fighters."

"I know," Sirius muttered.

And he did. But his mind was spinning. Growing up, the McKinnons were like a second family to him. They lived nearby Grimmauld Place, easily in walking distance, and Sirius would often find himself escaping his prison of a family to visit Marlene, a witch of his own age, and her parents. It was a glimpse inside the family he never had. While they were a well-known Pure-blood family, they were not immersed in the blood status mania that was constantly surrounding Sirius. As such, the Black family, sans their eldest son, tended to stray from interaction with the McKinnons.

Sirius was furthermore unsurprised that Marlene had bothered to scribe him a quick message. Not only had they forged a friendship during childhood, but they were also both sorted into Gryffindor once arriving at Hogwarts. Since then, their bond was strengthened. It was a friendship that could be trumped only by his Marauder brotherhood. Still, it was often said by other students that Marlene fit the role of an unofficial fifth Marauder.

By the time he had apparated to St. Mungo's Hospital, fifteen minutes later, Marlene was slumped over a chair in the waiting room. She looked drained of all emotion, her light brown eyes glassed over as she stared at a indeterminable spot on the wall. Her arms were bent, elbows resting on knees and chin propped on her palms. Her mouth was covered by her fingers, splayed across the lower half of her face. He could still see the spackle of faint freckles across her cheeks and nose, even through the scratches that littered her skin. All of this, combined with the tangle of golden-blonde hair gathered at her neck, made the usually put-together teenager look utterly broken, devoid of anything.

And while the war had been going on for a few years now, this moment marked Sirius Black's first insider look at the spreading effects. Effects that, he could already tell, were only going to spread wider and wider with time.

"What happened?" he asked, sitting down beside her. While most might consider a lack of physical comforting – patting the back, smoothing the hair, a hug – an adequate response, he knew she would appreciate a more concise form of relief. Facts, not feelings.

So she rehashed the facts to him, leaving nothing out. Each scratch, each curse, each hex and defense were accounted for. Marlene spoke calmly, twisting her hands in her lap out of habit. She continued to stare at that spot on the wall, so focused and direct. It went like this for what seemed like an hour, though was probably in actuality a mere five or six minutes – but he found it excruciating to listen to, her voice slow-motion to his ears as she shared her experience. An experience, Sirius thought, that no seventeen-year-old witch should have had to endure.

"They got mum and dad with the Cruciatus," she said, and for the first time her voice caught in her throat. "Off and on, for – I don't even know how long, Sirius." She looked at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry. He swallowed hard. "And I couldn't fucking do anything about it. I don't know what they hit me with, but it wasn't a normal body-bind." Marlene's eyes returned back to the wall, her nails digging into her palms. "I was just stuck there on the ground, completely unable to _move_ – while I had to watch them curl up in pain and listen to them scream." She inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together and shutting her eyes. "I've never heard dad scream like that. Complete, unadulterated _pain_."

This was all Sirius could think of as he sat in an unusually empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express. His eyes were closed, head leaning against the wall where he sat. He couldn't get the image of Marlene in the hospital out of his mind, no matter how much he rubbed at his face and eyes with his palms. Her absence on the train didn't help, either.

Her parents, she told him a few days after their meeting at St. Mungo's, would be staying for several weeks. Their health was far from improving, the best bit of news being that it was steady as opposed to declining. She had been visiting them every day; sometimes they would recognize her, other times it was a struggle.

This was when he was alerted of how bloody _real_ this war was.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to take out the miserable bastard who could go around breaking apart families, making it so parents didn't recognize their children, murdering both magical and Muggle innocents.

Yet here he was. On the Hogwarts Express, going to _school_. It seemed pointless in the presence of war. He almost didn't come back, either. James was the one who convinced him.

"You can't leave," he said.

"It's _use_less. What good am I learning how to charm some water when –"

"You leave now, you're just going to be another seventeen-year-old drop out. You can't take on this war by yourself, mate." His voice was softer now as Sirius paced the floor, anxious.

"You didn't _see_ her, James," he pressed. "This is real for Marlene, just like _it's real for other people_. It might not have hit us personally, but it's hit her and a whole lot of–"

"I know – I understand. But it's not –"

"But you _don't understand_," Sirius interrupted through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair, frustrated. "This isn't just about the McKinnons. It's all the daughters who have to hear their fathers cry, all the mothers who don't recognize their children because they've been _tortured so fucking badly_." He was shouting now; James let him, a testament to their friendship. "I can't – I don't know how I can just go back to Hogwarts when I know all this is happening right under our noses."

"This is bigger than us." There was a pause in which James watched Sirius carefully as he slumped against the wall of the Potter's parlour. "It's bigger than just fighting. You can't fix this by yourself."

From his place on the floor, he met James' eyes – grey eyes steadily challenging the youthful hazel. "Come with me."

"Padfoot –"

"We'll plan. We'll fight!" He was standing, now, his feet taking him back and forth on the carpet, pacing. "We'll do something about this, since no one else seems to want to. We're top in our year, Prongs. We don't _need_ to go back there. This is our chance to –"

"_Sirius_," James interrupted, his voice strong but weary. "It's great to talk about, standing here in my living room. And I agree," he said quickly. "But it's early, yet. I – _we_ have to go back."

"We're of age, James. We can do whatever we please."

"I need to go back," he said tersely.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Listen, mate. I know you're Head Boy, but, no offense, I think you're replaceable. I'd even go so far to wager that Dumbledore wouldn't _mind_ you and me going off to do something about this bloody war."

"It's not – I just – not everyone is safe at Hogwarts. You and I, we could be of better use there – for now."

"Are you mental? _Dumbledore_ is at Hogwarts. Students are safe. They don't need us to fucking watch over them."

"Have you forgotten about Mulciber and his mates?" James asked, raising an eyebrow with significant weight.

He snorted. "Who? My oaf of a brother, Snape, and the Carrows? They'd be stupid to try anything with Dumbledore around," he reasoned.

"They can still do damage – and their first targets are going to be the Muggle-borns, you know that."

Sirius stopped and pivoted abruptly to face James again. He groaned, rubbing his palm against his forehead. Of course, he thought. He should have known. He mentally scolded himself for not catching it earlier: the hesitancy and the reason that, of _course_, would be behind it.

"You mean Evans."

"Well, yes, Padfoot. She _would_ be included in the term 'Muggle-born.' But she's not –"

"_Fuck_, James. You're going to stay behind for that bird?"

"She's not the _only_ Muggle-born in Hogwarts."

"She's the only Muggle-born named Lily Evans, though, and I think –"

"_Give it a rest, Sirius_," James pleaded, throwing himself down on the couch and resting an arm over his face. "It's not about Evans." His voice was low, even. "It's about the good we could be doing at Hogwarts in this last year. You-Know-Who is rising in power and he's got a handful of allies at the school. They may be low on the totem pole, but the fact still remains that Death Eaters – in training or not – are going to be roaming these halls. I don't plan on letting that happen." There was a pause, heavy between them. Sirius was stuck for words, merely left standing in the middle of the parlour. "And I don't think you do either," James had added, "not with your brother among them."

He hated, sometimes, how well his mate knew him. James had made a valid point; both boys were well aware of this. The truth was: in the bottom of his heart there was a meager flicker of hope that perhaps, under the proper circumstances, he could bring Regulus back. Maybe it didn't have to be too late.

Which is why, on September 1, 1977, Sirius Black was sitting in an entirely-too-empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He was sprawled across an entire seat, one leg dangling off the edge while the other was bent at the knee. His eyes were shut, but the late-morning sunshine was relentless and he had to throw an arm over his face to keep it at bay.

And that's how it would be for a while: James and Remus gathered in the Prefects' cart, Peter off with that Hufflepuff he'd been talking to all summer, and Sirius reclining in a lonely compartment, blocking the sunlight from unwanting eyes.

_xxx_

"Well, isn't this precious?" a quiet, female voice drawled from the far end of the compartment.

Lily's attention was brought automatically to the speaker: a tall, pale girl with pixie-short, near-black hair. "Isn't _what_ precious?" she asked, despite herself.

"The meeting hasn't even started and you're already causing problems, Parkinson?" This from Max Davies, a Seventh Year Ravenclaw, who had just entered the cart.

"Keep your nose out of it. It's none of your business." Regulus Black was speaking now, his tone even and clear as he wrapped a hand around the fingers of Eleanor Parkinson.

"You're _dating_, now?" Ellen MacDonald shrieked through laughter.

"How quaint. El and I never thought you'd find someone willing to snog you. Unless, of course, there _was_ potion involved," teased a curly-haired Ravenclaw sitting beside Ellen.

Regulus was standing now, a sneer filthying his otherwise handsome features. "I'd take that back if I were you."

Davies stood, besting Regulus' height. "Making threats, now? Honestly, Black –"

"Will everyone be _quiet_!" Lily cried, eyes darting nervously around the half-full cart. If this was how it was going to be, and with only half the Prefects here, she wasn't entirely sure she was up for this job. "_Merlin_," she muttered as she slipped her bag off her shoulder and onto the nearest bench. There was silence as she rummaged through the depths in search of a quill and parchment; she could feel all eyes on her.

"I'm just saying," Eleanor's voice spoke again, "that it's really _kind_ of Dumbledore to think someone like you can do the job." Her voice was dripping with a false sweetness.

"Oh, for the love of –" Lily muttered under her breath, swiping her long hair over her shoulder as she turned around to face the Slytherin. "Listen, Parkinson. Call me all the names you want. Chances are, it's nothing I haven't heard before. But if you could kindly refrain from questioning my position, as appointed by the Headmaster himself, while I'm trying to prepare for a meeting, that would be splendid."

After that, Lily was thankful for the relative calm of the Prefect's cart. She was, however, all too aware of the sneering and whispering coming from where the Slytherins sat. But as everyone began filing into the compartment, she was quickly distracted from any misgivings. Seventh Years Christine Banks of Ravenclaw and Jenna Bradley of Hufflepuff both congratulated her on making Head Girl – although Jenna seemed to do so rather reluctantly, having been anticipating the position herself. The space was filling quickly as the new arrivals took their seats. She had just begun to think that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all, when an all-too-familiar voice cut through her thoughts.

"… and it's not important, Alecto."

"_Not that important_? Where have you –"

"_Quiet_," he cut her off, voice no more than a harsh whisper. It did the trick, though, and Alecto Carrow, however reluctantly, did not press matters further as they entered the compartment and sat down in the corner with the other Slytherins.

For the briefest of moments, Lily caught Severus' eye. Her face was set and his unreadable. It shocked her how uncomfortable she still felt. It had been more than a year since the day by the lake, since she refused to talk to him, since she lost her oldest friend. Despite this, there was always an ever-present twinge of discomfort in the pit of her stomach when she saw him: it was pain, anger, sadness, and fear all at the same time.

It wasn't until Severus Snape switched his focus to a point just beyond her shoulder that his expression became something definable: annoyance. Lily turned her head, eyebrows furrowed, only to find one Head Boy standing behind her, his mate Remus Lupin in tow.

She blanched slightly, inwardly cursing Dumbledore for the scenario he had inadvertently caused. There was a new sort of tension filling the air, far different than qualms over new relationships and petty name-calling. Gossip in Hogwarts spread faster than a case of Spattergroit, so it came of no surprise that everyone and their mothers knew about the Lake Incident of 1976. They were also aware of the falling-out which occurred from it and were _certainly_ well-versed in the Potter-Snape War that had been going on ever since First Year.

It was in that moment that Lily Evans seriously reevaluated Dumbledore's sanity.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Snape cut through the silence, his voice low. Lily opened her mouth to answer, gaping rather like a Flounder. Before she could even craft a response in her mind, however, the Head Boy himself was already speaking.

"Helping Evans over here run this meeting," James answered coolly.

Eleanor let out a shrill sort of giggle. "_That's _rich."

"Rich it may be, but also accurate."

"This just keeps getting better and better," she said in a faux-whisper, cupping her hand over her mouth as she directed her next statement to Regulus. "We've got the dirty Mudblood and the biggest prat in the school trying to give us direction. Merlin, help us."

There was a chorus of laughter from the Slytherins; Lily's fingers tightened around the quill in her hand as she dutifully began her mantra of _It's not worth it, It's not worth it, It's not _–

"Sorry I'm late!" Brenda Soft, a Fifth Year Hufflepuff, giggled as she all-but-flung herself into the compartment, cutting between Lily and James.

They both stumbled sideways: the former catching herself with the aid of Remus Lupin's steadying arm while the latter rediscovered balance with a palm against the wall. Lily cursed under her breath.

"What have I missed?" Brenda asked as she seated herself breathlessly amidst the Hufflepuffs, rather closely to Donald Abbot.

In waves, voices started relaying the events of the past ten minutes. Words were indecipherable through the mix of speakers and giggles. Lily groaned as she turned to thank Remus, now standing comfortably and safely on her own two feet. As she did so, a movement at her right caught her eye. She eyed James Potter suspiciously as he was pocketing his wand. He looked up, brushing shaggy black hair from his eyes, meeting her stare.

"_Did you pull your wand?" _she hissed, just loud enough so he could hear.

"Listen, Evans –"

"_No_," she cut him off. "That is just – you are _easily_ the most – just, _no_, Potter." And when he opened his mouth to speak, she added firmly, "Not now. We're talking about this later." Finished with him, she pivoted slightly on her heel to face the compartment. Several faces were looking eagerly at herself and Potter; others (namely, Slytherins) looked exceedingly bored with themselves; the gossiping birds were still chirping gleefully. In just a few words and maybe a couple threatening stares, Lily managed to get the compartment silent and listening before launching into her well-rehearsed spiel. This, though, not before she caught Remus' whispered voice behind her: "I reckon you're in trouble, mate."

"What else is new?" was the dejected answerer's response.

_xxx_

"Everyone, for the love of Merlin, _do not skive off on your rounds_ today on the train!" Lily shouted over her shoulder to the backs of the Prefects.

"And be sure to keep an eye out for our first meeting, sometime this week," James reminded the shuffling students. He went to leave the compartment, muttering a goodbye, see you later under his breath – hoping, maybe, he could just escape without her –

"Not so fast, Potter."

No luck.

She flung her arm across the compartment door, glaring up at him. "What was that?" she seethed.

"Er, what was _what_?" he asked, hoping to buy himself some time by playing dumb. (Of course, he knew perfectly well that said time would not last particularly long – but it was worth a shot.)

"You damn well know _what_," she said. He sighed, leaning against the wall of the compartment and resting his head back. "What were you _thinking_?" Lily whispered into the silence. "You're Head Boy, Potter. You can't go drawing your bloody wand in the middle of meetings just because –"

"You don't get it, Evans," James interrupted. He wasn't sure that she even heard him, because she continued on with her chastising for a few moments more before pausing, eyeing him suspiciously.

"—someone said something you – ex_cuse_ me?"

He let out a slight groan and crossed his arms taut over his chest, still not meeting her eyes. "This isn't a joke. That's what you don't understand," he said firmly.

She scoffed. "You're going to have to be a little more specific than that, Potter."

"_Those Slytherins_!" he shouted. In his peripheral vision he could see her jump slightly at his raised volume. He turned to face her square on. She was wearing an expression of mingled confusion and shock, her eyes wide under furrowed brows and mouth slightly agape. "They call you a – a _you-know-what_, and you act like it's all fine and dandy. But it's just –"

"So what if they call me names!" she cut in. "I don't _care_. There are worse things in life, you know? Sticks and stones and all that. Just because you think it's the end-all doesn't mean you can go about _pulling your wand on them_."

James sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. He was aware of the territory he was about to cross into, albeit with reluctance. The damn girl was too stubborn for her own good. "They're not a good group, Evans. They support You-Know-Who. They support torturing and murdering Muggles – and it's spreading to Muggle-borns, too. The Carrows, and Regulus, and Snape – they're all –"

"Oh my _GOD_," she shrieked, pulling at the ends of her hair. "Is this _honestly_ about Severus? Really, Potter? You're going to stoop to that level?"

"Shit, Lily! This is_ outrageous!_" he breathed, his voice low, but fierce enough to make her draw back. Her eyebrows furrowed into each other and he closed his eyes to take in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, James looked directly at her, settling his hands on her shoulders. He figured it was a testament to her shock towards his behavior that she didn't immediately pull back or snap at him or hex him. Instead, Lily's eyes had met his and she stared quietly back, biting down on her lower lip.

"I'm sorry," he said, concentrating on a softer tone to his voice. "I didn't mean to get angry. But I need you to understand. This has nothing to do with any – disagreements – I've ever had with Snape. It's about the fact that the second they step foot out of Hogwarts in June, they're joining You-Know-Who fulltime. It's not a game to them, Evans. And it all starts with calling you a name."

James lowered his arms to his side, looking at her uncertainly. He could see the tension in her jaw, the question behind her stare as her eyes darted nervously across his face.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked, unable to keep the scoff from her voice. With this, her face settled into a more familiar expression, a challenge, an eyebrow raised delicately. Before he could answer, Lily continued to speak. "Anyway," she said, "if it came down to it, I could defend myself."

He didn't respond right away. She asked the question as if it were the most ridiculous thought that he should care for her well-being. He was tempted to fall into the trap she was baiting; the familiarity of discussing his intentions; the usual argument of his desires versus her repulsion. It was enticing: a juvenile distraction from the matter at hand. James took in a deep breath and ignored her inquiry, opting instead for, "I know you could."

Lily eyed him suspiciously. "Brilliant," she said slowly. "I'm not seeing a reason for your concern, then."

He sighed, growing rather tired of her stubborn nature. "Have you noticed anyone missing this year?"

"Plenty of students. Parents don't want their children coming back with this war going on. I may live in a Muggle town but I'm not daft, Potter."

"Marlene McKinnon's family was attacked by Death Eaters this summer," he said. She wore a face of mingled confusion at his statement and annoyance at, he assumed, him. Realization dawned quickly, and her eyes widened as a hand jumped to her mouth in shock.

"Is she –?"

"She's okay," he said slowly. "But her parents got it bad. They're both still in St. Mungo's – have been for three weeks. The healers think they'll be okay, but it affected them something awful. It's been a rocky recovery, to say the least." He paused, frowning and running a hand through his hair. "My point is, though, that the McKinnons are two of the strongest Aurors the Ministry's got – and when it comes down to it, if You-Know-Who wants to get to you, he'll find a way. They're strong and they're fighters, so they'll pull through. I know they will," he said strongly, nodding. James reached for her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before she pulled back automatically, eyebrows furrowed uncertainly. "_That's _who Mulciber and his crew are working for. I just need you to realize this is more than just being able to defend yourself, Evans," he said quietly.

Lily folded her arms over her chest, tugging the front of her robes shut across her torso. "I don't understand what you want from me right now."

He frowned, shrugging slightly. There was no simple answer, he knew. What he wanted was reassurance of her safety; her trust; her comfort – and how was he to easily put that into words? This uncertainty, added to the fact that she was staring directly at him and with heavy suspicion, succeeded in making him feel entirely uncomfortable. James decided there was something uniquely disconcerting about having Lily Evans looking so intently at him.

"Just – be careful," he said finally.

"O-kay," she conceded slowly, adverting her eyes and tucking her hair behind her ears. "I have to go meet Cyril." He nodded as she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the compartment.

James groaned and leaned against the back wall, idly running a hand through his hair as he stared at the empty space in front of him. He had a sinking feeling that his attempts to get through to her weren't entirely successful. The girl was the definition of stubborn; and while he was well aware of this already, he wasn't about to give up. Maybe she just thinks he's being unreasonable and simply projecting his dislike of Snape – but it was far more than that. It was every student who didn't come back; it was Marlene's pain; it was Regulus' downward spiral.

Frowning, he pushed himself off the wall and exited the compartment. All things considered, he rather yearned for the naivety Lily insisted on maintaining.

_xxx_

"So I said to him, you _have_ to make a choice." Alice St. James was sitting cross-legged at the far end of the compartment, her blonde curls bouncing as she looked from Dor and Lily expectantly.

"What did he do?" Lily indulged, exchanging an amused glance with Dor.

She unfurled her legs and leaned forward, frowning as she propped her chin on her fists and looked up at them with wide eyes. "The bloody fool walked out!"

"Come on, Alice," Dor sighed. "You're meant for one another. You _both_ know that."

"Not to mention, this is just what you do," Lily added with a shrug.

"The girl raises a good point. You and Frank are the definition of on-again, off-again."

"Brilliant," she muttered, flopping herself against the back of the seat, slouching sadly.

Lily sighed, shaking her head slightly and suppressing the grin that was threatening to spread across her face. She and Dorcas were both accustomed to this song and dance: Frank Longbottom and Alice St. James were quite known for the rollercoaster ride they called their relationship. It had been like this ever since their Third Year when Alice was the unfortunate victim of Frank's poor flying skills. That day marked the beginning of the insane dance they choreographed.

Said dance had several steps to it. Lily and Dor had established them once they clued in on the cyclical nature of their friend's relationship. Step one was called The Honeymoon. This was the period of intense happiness when all was well, and it seemed that neither party could do any wrong. Depending on the cycle, The Honeymoon lasted anywhere from two weeks to three months. It was followed by step two, The Denial. This was the time where each would attempt to convince the other of their hatred. Step two often housed many slanderous comments that usually got back to the subject of such disdain. Step three was known as Limbo. For all third-party participants (i.e., Lily and Dorcas themselves), this was the most uncomfortable and unbearable of the steps. It involved many contradictory thoughts and uncertainty from Alice that her friends heard about incessantly. (Dor wanted to call this step the Friends With Benefits Stage, but Lily vetoed that immediately.) Limbo was usually the longest step, as it involved rapidly-changing feelings from both members. Step four was The Repentance, which ultimately led to the final step: The Make-Up.

Right now, Alice and Frank were in the middle of Limbo.

"You realize, Al, that he walks out because he knows he can walk back anytime he pleases?" Dor asked.

The girl glared. "He most certainly _can't_." Lily and Dor looked at each other, unconvinced. "_Honestly_," she pressed. "I made it very clear that if he walked out my door that afternoon, I wanted nothing more to do with him."

"What did he say to that?"

Alice shrugged, inhaling deeply before letting out a long, sad sigh. "He walked out, didn't he?"

Lily uncrossed her legs and stretched across the seat to pull her friend into an embrace; she stroked her blonde hair gently, cooing reassuringly into the top of her head. Dor patted Alice on the back uncertainly. (She was never very good at playing the consoling friend role.)

"Should I come back later?" came a familiar male voice. All three heads snapped up to the compartment door, Cyril standing at the threshold.

"Come sit!" Alice said cheerily, pulling herself out of her friend's embrace and putting on a smile. Lily had to admit: the girl was good. She was always doing this – near to tears in one moment, all smiles the very next. It was a quality Lily knew she would never possess, but it did not stop her from envying that of her all the same.

"I thought you were sitting with your teammates?" Lily asked with a smirk as he sat beside her, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head.

Cyril wrapped an arm around her shoulders; she nestled into his chest, her head snug under his chin. When he spoke, she could feel the vibration of his chest against her cheek. "I can only talk Quidditch with the blokes for so long knowing that you're just a few compartments away."

"I'm going to vomit," Dor stated. Lily shot a warning glare in her direction.

It was no secret that Dorcas thought Cyril Cooper was a bumbling idiot. She kept her opinion to herself in the first few weeks of their relationship, admitting later that this was only in the hopes that Lily would come to her senses and drop the boy. When the couple did not immediately break it off, she became far more blasé about her honest thoughts. True to Dorcas Meadowes fashion, she penned a list titled "Reasons Why C. Cooper Is Unsuitable" and gave it to Lily a month into her relationship. There were ten items on the list, including things like "4. He's a Ravenclaw," "2. He hates your music," and "7. He expects you to be perfect."

Lily promptly burned this list with a quick swish of her wand.

"Don't be rude," Alice muttered, always the peace-keeper.

"I'm sorry," she said blandly. (Lily knew she wasn't.)

Cyril sent a thin smile her way. "You know, Dorcas, when you find someone as brilliant and perfect as Lily, maybe then you'll understand my sentiments."

Lily let out a quick, exhaled laugh. "Brilliant and perfect, Cy? I'm not sure who you think you're dating, but she's certainly not in this compartment right now."

"Humble, too!"

"No, _honestly_! I am a far cry from –"

"_Lily_!" a voice whined as the compartment door was slung open for the second time that hour. This time it was a female's voice, her eyes settling determinedly on the redhead as she untangled herself from Cyril's gentle hold.

"What's the matter, Jenna?"

"It's that bloody Brenda Soft. She's supposed to be doing rounds with me right now, yet she's off snogging some young, impressionable bloke. She's asked me not to say anything to you, Lily, but I do believe this is something you _cannot_ let slide. It's early – if she thinks she can get away with this now, imagine what she'll try later!"

Lily blinked at the Hufflepuff Prefect who stood before her. She hadn't even been Head Girl for a full day and already she wanted to toss herself out the nearest window. If deterring Brenda Soft's snogging escapades was going to be the highlight of her duties, she wasn't all that sure she wanted the job anymore. Surely this was something Potter could handle on his own. Come to think of it, she found herself mildly irked that no one bothered _him_ with such trivialities.

"I'll take care of it," she said with a sigh, bringing herself to her feet.

She was led out of the compartment, sending exasperated glances to her companions, by a determined Jenna Bradley. The Amazonian girl stomped several paces ahead, not even sending Lily a second glance. She contemplated testing her luck – perhaps it would go unnoticed if she slipped away.

"I don't mean to step on any toes," Jenna said. (Clearly, any disappearing act _would_ be accounted for.) Lily didn't respond. "I'm just trying to look out for you. The first thing about being in a position like Head Girl is remembering to establish your authority. I'm just helping you do that."

"Um," she said awkwardly. "All right." She couldn't help but feel that this was Jenna Bradley's way of living vicariously through Lily's title – and at the rate this was going, she'd much rather resign and willingly hand over the badge than spend an entire year in circumstances like these.

"Just through here." Jenna pointed dramatically down the hallway, where several figures could be seen, blurred through the warped glass of the compartment door. Reluctantly, Lily took the several steps required to close the gap and slid open the door.

"Brenda, I hear you've – oh." She blinked, staring now at the petite brunette slouched against the wall and glaring determinedly at a tall, bespectacled boy. "_Honestly_, Potter?" Lily asked, incredulous.

They were both looking at her now. Brenda rather appeared as if Lily just struck her; her bottom lip protruded forward and her nose was scrunched as she huffed. Potter's demeanor hardly changed, his hand simply jumping to his hair and ruffling the dark locks. Lily's eyes darted between her two peers, resulting in eye contact with the incorrigible boy. He merely shrugged. She fought the urge to scream. Instead, she returned her attention to the slag in question.

"Jenna's just outside. Go with her and please return to your compartment for the rest of the trip, and kindly resist any further detours, yes? Brilliant. We'll discuss the proper way of going about rounds when we return to school," Lily said, a sense of finality in her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest and did not move her eyes from Brenda until she marched through the door. Lily rounded on James, eyes narrowed. "And _you. _You start off the day pulling your wand on students and now you're trying to get a quick snog in with –"

"_What_?"

"— a bloody Fifth Year. Who do you think you _are_?"

Silence. They stared, green and hazel eyes boring into one another: one angry, the other amused.

"Who do _you_ think I am?"

"Don't throw my questions back at me."

"Evans. I wasn't snogging Brenda Soft."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

"I was doing my job," James said with a sigh. "I saw the stupid bird in here with some snotty Ravenclaw. I tossed the bloke out and was telling her to please do her job when you so kindly barged in here and practically accused me of shagging her. Have some faith, why don't you?"

Lily watched as he exited the compartment, all too aware of the small smile he gave as he passed her. She furrowed her eyebrows, frowning slightly. His behavior all day had been peculiar, almost unsettling – to say nothing of the fact that he was stepping up, already, to his Head duties. She would have been impressed, perhaps, if it wasn't for the fact she was so taken aback. His demeanor so far was heavily modified, and there was nothing in the books that prepared her for such an occurrence.

Have some faith, he told her. Maybe she would, Lily thought – but it was going to take more than just a day of being tolerable in order for him to earn her faith.

_xxx_

The arrival at Hogwarts was, in comparison to the rest of the trip, quite uneventful.

Sirius watched as students were being ushered into compartments. He could see James at a distance, taking care of a group of quarrelling Second Years, attempting to separate and usher them into the carts. Further down was Remus Lupin, standing at the sidelines and monitoring the traffic flow as students of all ages were scrambling to find a cart empty enough to house their groups. Though he could not see her, he was aware that somewhere nearby Lily Evans was also shoving her peers into the thestral-driven carts. And knowing his best mate as he did, Sirius knew that James was inevitably throwing inconspicuous glances to the redhead, wherever she may be.

He would never understand it: James' intense fascination with the girl who always, from the moment they first met, openly voiced her disdain for him. At first, his best friend's interest in one Lily Evans spawned from his severe dislike for Severus Snape. Lily and Snape were the best of friends, strangely enough, and James and Sirius both thought it would really irk the greasy-haired git if he could start dating his best friend. That didn't work, namely for the simple reason that Lily found James completely immature. As Fourth year progressed, James continued to pursue Evans. It became a fun challenge, and a piece of entertainment for the Marauders.

When they came back for Fifth year, Lily's looks were not lost on James. Sirius wasn't sure if it was James' perspective or her appearance that altered ever so slightly, but he began to view Evans as his perfect woman – from the faint splatter of freckles across her pale face to the long, dark red hair that curled loosely at its ends to the bright green eyes with thick eyelashes that always sent fiery, provoked looks his way. Sirius picked up on this before James did – the fact that James didn't consider Snape's involvement in this equation any longer, but genuinely felt an attraction towards his classmate. Unfortunately for him (and for Sirius, Remus and Peter, who never heard the end of it), Lily did not have a realization like his and she still looked at James as though he was the Giant Squid's ugly step-brother. Consequently, he spent all of Fifth year trying (and failing) to persuade Evans that the attraction was mutual.

Then there was last year: Snape and Lily were no longer friends, and Remus and Lily had forged some semblance of a friendship, having been Prefects together the year before. James thought for sure it was going to be his year, as the circumstances were, in his mind, on his side. (Sirius, ever the wise one, was not so convinced.) This, of course, proved very much not the case. Sirius had to hand it to her; she was a very determined individual to maintain the strength of will to successfully deter James' invitations to dates over and over again. He thought for sure that, if nothing else, she would agree to go on at least one date just to shut him up.

This didn't happen. Instead, the year ended just as it always had, no progress achieved. In fact, one could even be so brazen to say that James was in worse shape than when the year started. Lily Evans started seeing Cyril Cooper just before the end of term. To begin a relationship before the holidays was always a dangerous thing, and it said a lot about the couple's feelings on whether or not they survive the two-month break.

"You _do _realize," Sirius had said during one of James' rants, "that if Cooper and Evans are still an item when we get back –"

"Won't happen."

"— the chances of you two going on a date are even slimmer?"

"Cyril Cooper is an uninteresting git. I don't see this lasting past the end of the month."

"Prongs, did it ever occur to you that she's happy?"

There was a silence, during which Sirius felt slightly guilty. He had always been strongly on James' side, rooting for him despite what the signs showed. This was the first time voicing the thought that maybe, in an upside-down world, Lily Evans was truly happy with someone who wasn't James Potter.

"Yes," James answered, and Sirius could tell by the sound of his voice that this was the truth. "And as long as she's happy, I'll back off."

And as the term began, with the couple in question still happy, it so far appeared that James would be sticking by that promise. From what Sirius was told, and what he currently observed, it seemed that his best mate had grown up a bit over the summer.

_xxx_

It wasn't easy, he thought. But then again, the things that were worth it never were.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. The girl was as stubborn as they come – James certainly knew that – but Lily Evans seemed completely unaware of the fact that he wasn't the same fifteen-year-old boy from Fifth Year.

"I've done nothing but act politely towards her all day!" he insisted, taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand. It was a dirty habit he picked up from Sirius last year, after the latter moved out of his childhood home of Grimmauld Place. It was one of the many ways he chose to rebel against his pureblood frenzied mother, the ultimate Muggle rebellion.

"Sure, mate. Except for the time you practically told her she didn't know what she was talking about," Sirius commented, a stream of smoke billowing from his parted lips.

"And you did get a little too excited during that Prefect meeting," added Remus, waving away the smoke. "Do you have to do that?"

"Re_lax_," Sirius said with a shrug, leaning against the tree and taking another drag. Remus rolled his eyes, pacing around the group.

"We're going to miss the Sorting," Peter spoke, looking over his shoulder at Hogwarts. "They must be starting soon."

James stubbed the end of his cigarette out on the trunk of the tree against which Sirius rested. "Excuse me. I think we've become sidetracked."

"Oh, right," Sirius muttered dully. "We're still talking about Evans. Prongs, I thought we discussed this." James threw him a look, running his fingers through his hair. "She's happy."

He resisted the urge to scowl. What did he know? Besides – they hadn't even been back at school for twenty-four hours. It was hardly a means for comparison. He told them this, but to no avail. Sirius, Peter, and Remus began to speak amongst themselves. James sighed, thrusting his hands into his pockets before nodding towards the castle.

"I've got to go. I shouldn't be late to the Sorting. It would probably look bad."

"But smoking a fag on school grounds lends itself to a perfect reputation, does it?" Sirius asked with a smirk.

He smiled in spite of himself. "I suppose not, but I can't be entirely square right off the bat, can I?"

"That would be just dreadful," Peter said solemnly.

"I'll leave the cloak with you bunch," James said, handing over the prized cloak to his mates. "I assume you'll be creating your own entrance."

"Jealous?" remarked Sirius, who was now crushing the remains of his cigarette underneath the toe of his shoe.

"A fair bit."

"Get on with it," Remus said, giving him a light shove in the direction of the school.

So off he went: his robes hanging unfastened around his shoulders, Oxford shirt untucked, his hair extra rumpled of his own doing, and too-long pants catching under the heel of his shoe. A sight to behold, he knew. He wasn't sure who would have more of a field day, though – McGonagall or Evans – of berating him for his less-than-perfect appearance. Not entirely eager to find out, he began the attempt to put himself back together.

He had just gotten around to rolling the cuffs of his trousers when he heard a figure in the distance. James looked around, wondering if perhaps his fellow Marauders had started back to the school. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Without thinking, his hand reached around to his back pocket, extracting his wand and gripping it while straining his ears to hear.

But suddenly, it was much easier to hear. There was shouting coming from familiar voices and rushed off in their direction. That's when he saw a large crowd of people forming at the main entrance to Hogwarts. The student body was clumped together, clamoring to see what was going on, moving together like an amoeba as they all craned their necks every which way to try for a better view.

James had finally approached the scene close enough to find Sirius and Regulus at the center of it all. Both boys had their wands extended, their faces contorted into an ugly, deep-set anger.

"If you knew what's good for you, you'd stop resisting_ –"_

"_I'd rather die than betray what I believe in!_"

"Well if you keep on the path you're on, you'll end up dead!"

"By your hand?" James saw Sirius's face settle into a sneer. "Don't make me laugh."

He knew he saw it before Sirius did – the faintest of motions on Regulus' part. And while he knew the boy wasn't stupid enough to try an Unforgivable Curse in front of all of Hogwarts, he could not be so sure how detrimental a hex he _would_ send. James raised his own wand, pushed Sirius out of the way, and launched a disarming spell.

Unintelligible shouts. Screams from bystanders. A flash of a wand followed by a loud crash. Then:

"DETENTION, MISTERS BLACK AND MISTER POTTER!"

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><p><strong>author's note| <strong>SO, there you have it. Chapter one of a semi-anticipated full-length fic. I don't know quite how long it will be, or if every chapter will be this long, or how fast I'll update (I am a busy college senior, you see). But hopefully, I hooked you enough and you'll stick with me for the upcoming chapters. Reviews are MUCH appreciated! Also, find me on tumblr (where I post art and drabbles quite frequently!) - .com

Cheers!


	3. Chapter Two

**AUTHOR'S NOTES | **I know it's been a while. Longer than I had hoped until Chapter 2. BUT IT'S HERE! Thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed. To: Willowtree3, I will be having adventure-y things, but my main story is the characters/relationships; lovelylovelywowrealy, I'm half-planning, but my brain takes over sometimes. It'll be pretty long. Expecting it to go until the end of their Seventh Year; Lea/Lacking Stealth, I am glad you can look past similarities to TLAT; sure, the Beatles thing is pretty prominent (but classic rock/seventies music is prominent in my life, so it's naturally going to make an appearance) and I enjoy when there is a prologue that vaguely hints at a future event, and at any rate - thank you for the lovely comments and criticisms! ALSO, I HAVE WATCHED DOCTOR WHO! :) Obsessed with the show; Victoria, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU you are a brilliant lovely beta. Also thanks to MOOKU, JESS, and REMY. You are all lovely and helpful. 3 Anyway - here goes chapter 2.

* * *

><p><em>xxx<em>

"That was quite possibly _the stupidest thing_ you have ever attempted."

"I didn't start it."

"You knew what you were doing," James insisted.

Silence.

Sirius ran his hands over his face before slouching lower in his chair. The pair of them sat in uncomfortable wooden, high-backed chairs that resided outside of Professor McGonagall's office. Upon breaking up the altercation, Regulus was sent off with the Head of Slytherin, while their straight-laced Head of House promptly led James and Sirius to her office. Reaching her door, she wordlessly conjured up the chairs in which they now sat and entered her office. It was an unspoken understanding that they were to wait outside until she was ready for them.

They sat in silence for those first five minutes. James wondered how to approach a discussion of the night's events. It was nothing new to see Regulus and Sirius exchange words, after all. Ever since they were both at Hogwarts it was a constant battle between the two. Of course, it did not help that Slughorn, Reg's Head of House, insisted on getting the pair of them together over dinner through extravagant invitations that, James knew, neither boy appreciated. Only once did Slughorn manage to trick the pair of them into attending one of his notorious Christmas parties – and that ended badly, to say the least.

All that aside, James never witnessed their rivalry elevate to that level before. It was alarming and, frankly, he could not have confidently said how far it would or would not have gone. Which is precisely why all he wanted to do in this moment was knock some sense into his best mate's head.

"He's your brother," James pressed on, "and you know exactly what to say and do to get him riled knew _exactly_ what you were doing, so don't try and –"

"_I know_," Sirius interrupted loudly. He inhaled deeply before letting the air escape his mouth, a steady stream of breath. "I fucking know, all right? I'm a fool. Are you done lecturing me?"

James paused, ruffling his hair with a sigh. "I'm not trying to lecture you."

"I know."

"So are you done biting off my head every time I try and talk to you?" Sirius grunted, and he took that as an affirmative. "I'm just letting you know: that was stupid. Are you aware of that, now?"

"Yes."

"Then what the hell happened, Padfoot?"

His friend hesitated and stood up, allowing himself to pace back and forth in front of McGonagall's office. Sirius was quite possibly the most restless bloke he had ever met. The notion of remaining still for any length of time, especially under intense emotion, was laughable.

"He –"

His explanation was cut off; Minerva McGonagall chose that moment to swing open her door and request the presence of Mr. Black in her office, now. The boys exchanged a look, and James swore he saw a hint of a twinkle in his friend's eye as he stepped over the threshold. But of course, circumstances aside, he would find pride in upholding their Tradition of Troublemaking.

"Git," he muttered fondly under his breath. James couldn't help but grin as he reclined back in his chair and shut his eyes, waiting.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that before a familiar voice cut through the silence. "You're unbelievable. Are you _honestly_ smiling about this?"

He cracked open an eye, a blurry Lily Evans standing before him. He didn't need to open his eyes fully to know that she was standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl etched over her pretty features.

"Who said I was smiling about this?" he asked. "Perhaps I was recalling a funny story."

"Were you?" she asked skeptically.

He sat up straight and opened his eyes to look at her. "No. You're quite right. I was just remembering this eventful night. Committing it to memory, you know."

"Then I stand by what I said: you're unbelievable," Lily said with a sigh.

He smirked, standing up. "All right, Evans. Too what do I owe your company?"

"Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with us before we turn in for the night," she said. Her voice took on the authoritative tone she liked to use. James was far too familiar with it. "I imagine he wants to go over some details about being Head Girl and Boy. And he probably wants to discuss your … lovely display from this evening." She eyed him carefully, a delicate eyebrow raised and her mouth set in a thin, tense line.

"You know," James said thoughtfully, standing up. He now had several inches on her, her eyes rising to meet his as she looked quizzically at him. "I am curious to know what you would have done in my situation."

"I wouldn't have pulled my wand, for one thing!"

"Wouldn't you?" he threw back, crossing his arms and taking a step towards her. She didn't falter. "If your best mate was in potentially serious danger, you would take action." Lily opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in before she could get out a word: "I know you would."

She blinked, looking at him with genuine curiosity. He smiled slightly and slumped back onto the chair, his legs sprawled in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and hands folded over his stomach, eyes shut.

"Have you spoken with Professor McGonagall, yet?" He shook his head. "All right. Well, once you finish with her, we should go to the Headmaster's office." He nodded. He could hear her shuffling, perhaps uncomfortably, but kept silent, a smile still ghosted across his mouth. "I'll just wait here," he heard her mutter. The shuffling stopped. His grin increased.

"… And I will see you in the Trophy Room, seven o'clock _sharp, _Friday night. Don't be late, Mr. Black."

James sat up and turned his head around to look the Professor in the eye; she issued a withering stare, beckoning him into her office with a slight wave of her hand. He sighed, shooting a small grin Lily's way, and followed behind McGonagall – leaving both Sirius and Lily in his wake.

_xxx_

"Evans."

She had been staring determinedly at an indistinguishable spot at the wall, just to the right of Black's head, waiting. The silence was welcomed, mostly due to the fact that the alternative was a conversation with Sirius Black – something she never wished for. It appeared, however, that the boy in question had other plans. Reluctantly, she turned her attention to him.

"That was quite the performance you gave earlier," Lily said, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her weight against the wall.

He laughed, the sound resembling something midway between a snort and a bark. "Not particularly well-rehearsed, if you ask me. Not to mention the unwarranted audience involvement. Made things a tad messy."

"You're as ridiculous as Potter," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." He smirked, mirroring her position against the wall, leaning directly opposite her.

"How can you be so nonchalant during times like these," she asked slowly, possessing the air of someone with a genuine desire to understand. "People are dying, or going missing. Families are torn apart – all on a daily basis. And you spend your time joking and making scenes!"

The amusement previously sketched across his face fell flat and he pushed himself off the wall so he half-closed the space between them. She raised an eyebrow at his sudden movement, straightening to full-height and staring back at him: an unspoken challenge between the two. She tilted her chin up slightly, as if to ask, "What?"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe people need laughs now more than ever? If no one's joking, we've lost."

"And your idea of joking is to duel with your brother in front of the entire damn school?"

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He ran a hand through his hair, interrupting the long locks of black. She watched him, green eyes meeting grey with near-animosity. She could not understand his position – the way he chose to act. In her mind, his actions were a mark of his well-known pureblood status. For Sirius Black (and James Potter, for that matter), it was not a constant struggle to keep their heads up, to keep fighting, to remain strong. They were not faced with the same prejudices that she, as a Muggle-born, was. Lily supposed it was easier to joke and find humor in things when one was not constantly reminded of their allegedly filthy blood status.

"Don't talk about what you don't understand, Evans." His voice was low, his eyes flashing slightly dark.

Lily laughed, incredulous. "What _I_ don't understand? You have got to be kidding me, Black! It is the people like your family who—"

"_YES!" _he interrupted, his voice strong. "It's the people like my family who are _ripping apart my friends._ It's not just Muggle-borns who are being affected, but also those who support _your rights_. Marlene McKinnon's entire bloody family was wrecked by this war. I don't need self-proclaimed martyrs like yourself to remind me that my family is involved." He paused, taking a step towards her. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath as she watched the boy in front of her take on a far more serious outlook than she had ever seen; she almost did not recognize him fully. "You don't understand, Lily," Sirius muttered, his voice softer now. "I know you think you do, but all you know is what the Prophet says. That's not much. My advice to you? Lighten up."

"Who are you to tell me to lighten up?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed. "You're not getting my point! You act like this is all a joke. Fighting your brother in front of the Gryffindors and Slytherins and Professors and everyone? What the hell kind of message is that sending?" Lily took a step towards him, glowering pointedly. Neither party backed down. "You realize you're encouraging separation between Houses? Perhaps instead of pressing your brother's buttons, you could –"

"You don't know the _half _of it, Evans! Stop trying to act like you understand everything that goes on. What happens between Regulus and I is a long-time brewing. It's a matter of loyalties, trust, betrayals. The whole nine yards!"

"And you've made it everyone's business!"

"_Maybe everyone has a right to know!" _

Lily blinked, retreating slightly at the harshness with which he delivered his words. There was evident anger behind each syllable. While the two teenagers, with their battling morals and opposite values, did not generally get along, there was never such primitive anger issued from either party. But he was furious, she could tell. Uncertain as she was to determine whether it was because of her goading or because of the events from earlier, she was still taken aback. It was unsettling, her eyes wide as she stared openmouthed at him.

Perhaps recognizing her discomfort, her mild undertones of fear, he spoke: "Reg took part in the McKinnon attack," he mumbled, looking down and crossing his arms uncomfortably over his chest. "When I found out, I snapped."

"I noticed," she said quietly, a frown plastered upon her face. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, wishing for a distraction.

"It wasn't the best way to handle that."

"No, it wasn't."

"But it seemed right at the time."

Sirius met her eyes again, and she remained silent for a long moment before opening her mouth to relieve the plea presented in his words. "Of course it did," she said softly, sincerely.

"Right, well," he said enthusiastically, an evident cover-up for the lingering discomfort. "The real matter at hand is why you are here."

"Excuse me?" she asked and had to swallow the laugh that threatened to come forth. It was such an absurd inquiry, she thought, after the previous conversation. She supposed she should not have been surprised, save for the fact that the way Sirius spoke implied that he did not much mind her presence. There was genuine curiosity behind the words, an eyebrow quirked as he looked at her.

"You have been lurking outside this door since before I came out. This can only mean you were in James' company before, and since you are still here after he has gone inside, you are very clearly waiting for him to return. Ergo, you want to see James."

She paused, rolling her eyes. "Your logic is flawed, Black."

"Pray tell, Evans." His classic smirk had returned as he sat down in a chair, folded his hands in his lap, and stared eagerly at her.

"I may be waiting for Potter, but it's certainly not because I _want _to."

"Denial," he sighed.

"Not that it's any of your business," she said pointedly, "but Dumbledore is expecting us to meet with him this evening. I'm simply waiting for your mate to return from Judgment Day."

Sirius snorted. "Well, if his fate is anything like mine then he'll be spending many a Friday evening in the Trophy Room."

"We're about to find out," she trilled, nodding her head towards the door as it swung open.

"— But it's _Quidditch_, Professor!" The voice was heard before the body seen, following Professor McGonagall in a sad wake. His fingers grabbed at the ends of his hair, frustrated.

"Trust me, Mr. Potter, I am well aware of this. Imagine for a moment, if you will, how it would reflect on me if I were to give the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain preferential treatment. You have left me no choice." Lily could have sworn she heard genuine disappointment in McGonagall's unwavering tones; after all, it was no secret that the Head of House had an affinity for the sport and a strong competitive drive to go with it.

"Oh, come _on_, Pro—"

"Perhaps next time," she began strongly, looking directly at the tall, dark-haired boy who stood determinedly in front of her, "you will consider your priorities before causing such a raucous display."

Recognizing defeat, James sighed and slouched away, not even registering the posse who awaited his presence. Lily stood a few feet away, her arms crossed loosely in front of her as she observed the situation. Upon McGonagall's return to her study, Sirius promptly threw an arm around his mate's shoulder and grinned ear-to-ear.

"Excellent! Friday night detentions, too?"

"Sadly, yes. I'm going to have to rework my entire practice schedule! What a start to the year _this_ is," he muttered.

"Cheer up, Prongs. At least you won't be alone. Trophy Room?"

James snorted. "Are you mental? Do you honestly think McGonagall would ever stick us together in a detention?"

"She did –"

"Yes, once. That was enough for her to learn her mistake."

"Thought maybe she'd be going soft in her old age," Sirius said with a shrug, releasing his friend from his grip and advancing several paces ahead.

"While this little gathering is swell and all," Lily finally interrupted, looking pointedly at James, "you and I have business to get to."

"Business?" Sirius snorted with a suggestively significant smirk; this earned a glare from the redhead who was clearly not amused.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to talk with us," she amended with a sigh, running her hand over her face. "And frankly, I'd like to end this day and get some sleep before we begin classes tomorrow. Indeed, if I had it my way, I'd be in bed already. Of course, that's not possible because I had to wait around for you to finish being reprimanded! Now if you don't mind," she said, fists resting on her hips as she stared daggers at James, "I would _much_ like to get this meeting done and over with. _Please_."

"And _that_ is my cue," Sirius mumbled, throwing a dismissive hand in the air as he sauntered off, leaving James and Lily in his wake.

_xxx_

Lily was walking so fast that James had to take extra-long strides to match her pace. Even still, she kept a few steps ahead of him, the bottoms of her shoes clicking their rhythm against the stone floors of the corridor. He wanted to comment on the swiftness of her speed, make some sort of joke as she all-but ran to Dumbledore's office. Thankfully, his better judgment was kind enough to kick in and he thought better of it; after all, she was already in a right mood and he knew better than to bother with witty quips.

He _had_ just spent upwards of twenty minutes in a small, confined space with Professor McGonagall. One hot-tempered female interaction a night was enough, he presumed, and as such remained silent for their trip to the Headmaster's Office.

"What do you reckon he wants to discuss?" she asked suddenly, his eyebrows raising in surprise at her words. She sounded almost nervous, something he was unprepared for.

"We have a lot on our plates this year, being Head Boy and Girl. I imagine Dumbledore is looking to prepare us and put us at ease."

"Still, why couldn't he have written us letters over the summer hols? It's so late," she grumbled.

He relaxed his pace, falling several steps behind her now. His hands found their way into the pockets of his trousers and he stared curiously at the back of her head. "Lily Evans, are you complaining?"

Her footsteps faltered at the accusation, though she did not pivot to face him; after the mild hiccup in her step, she pressed forward and let out a solid, "_No_."

James smirked. "You _are_ human, Evans. You're allowed to complain."

"Well, _I wasn't_. End of discussion."

"Just … Keep it in mind for the future, I suppose."

She didn't respond, and the rest of the trek to Dumbledore's office was made in silence. He followed steadily behind her, staring at the staccato movement of her feet. He found the determination with which she walked forward quite remarkable for someone who claimed exhaustion. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, however; she was always one for hiding behind such obstinacy. Such an avoidant nature was perhaps the single most frustrating thing about her.

When she stopped walking, he was unprepared and, had it not been for quick reflexes, likely would have barreled right into her. Thankful that such a circumstance was not the case, James stood beside her now, also staring at the gargoyle entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"How could I be so stupid?" she muttered under her breath as she took a single step closer to the stone figure before her. It remained still, even as she brought a hand to its wings that wrapped around the body.

"Something wrong?"

Lily turned her head to look at him, eyebrows raised. "There's a password. Of _course_ there's a bloody password." The second statement was once again muttered, a frustrated remark punctuated with a low groan.

He smiled in spite of himself. What with the amount of trouble he had been in throughout his six previous years at Hogwarts, this was hardly his first trip to Dumbledore's office. She was correct: there was, indeed, a password.

"Dumbledore didn't say?"

She shook her head slowly, once again staring intently at the dark stone gargoyle that rested unmoving before them. "All he said was that he wished to speak with us before turning in for the night."

"That's all?"

"Yes. And he mentioned how much he loved chocolate turtles. Does the man _honestly_ want me to conjure up some sweets?" she mumbled in disbelief, throwing an arm over her head and exhaling deeply.

James leaned against the wall beside the gargoyle, feigning interest in his red-and-gold striped tie that hung loosely around his neck. "Have you thought of telling the gargoyle that?" he hummed.

Her arm fell to her side and she stared at him as though he had grown a second head. "Pardon?"

"I said: have you thought of –,"

"Yes-yes-yes," she interrupted, throwing her hands up in front of her, palms out, a stopping gesture that he obeyed. The side of his mouth quirked upwards in a smirk and he dropped his tie, granting her full attention. "I get the feeling you know something that you are not telling me, Potter."

"This isn't my first trip to Dumbledore's office, Evans."

"Oh, would you quit playing games!" she cried. "What is the bloody password!"

"I told you: tell the gargoyle exactly what sweet Dumbledore fancies."

Lily raised an eyebrow at him; he gave what he hoped to be an encouraging tilt of the head, indicating the gargoyle beside him. After a moment of hesitation, she took a step towards the stone entrance.

"You better not be pulling my leg, Potter," she warned. He found amusement in the way she tentatively leaned over, her nose mere inches away from the gargoyle's peaceful face. "Chocolate turtles," she said in a near-whisper, as if telling the stone figure a life-altering secret. In a relapsed moment of wishful thinking, he rather hoped he might someday earn such a tone of voice from her, simple and sweet and strangely vulnerable. (It was silly, he thought, that she should be such with an inanimate stone gargoyle.)

Sure enough, however, the gargoyle began to retract its wings from around its body, forming a door in their absence. Lily leapt back in surprise, eyes wide.

"Brilliant," she laughed. "Is the password always 'chocolate turtles'?" she asked curiously, beginning to ascend the steep staircase.

"No," he answered, following suit. "But I have a feeling it's always some sort of sweet. I've been to his office twice before. Once the password was 'Bertie Botts' and the second time it was 'Sugar Quills.'"

Another laugh, this one a bit longer and lighter. He wanted to absorb the sound, memorize it and replay it in his mind. More than that, though, he wished he could elicit her laughter again and again.

"I suppose our Headmaster has quite the sweet tooth," she said, reaching the final step and rapping her knuckles on the door to announce their arrival.

_xxx_

Lily had to continually remind herself to pay attention to the Headmaster's words. It was difficult, however, when there were so many interesting knick-knacks lining the surfaces of his shelves, desks, and tables. Several of them emitted puffs of colored smoke, while others whirred anxiously inside unseen boundaries. There were silver instruments that hovered above the shelf, swaying slowly to a steady rhythm, rather like a metronome. She wondered about their functionality, their purpose, what they were detailing or measuring or foretelling. Then again, there was always the possibility that their function was purely aesthetic. One could never really tell with Albus Dumbledore.

At any rate, they were distracting.

She had lost track of the conversation: were they still talking about their many duties? Or had they moved onto discussing the Head's Office? Her focus was piqued by a small black-and-chrome, cylindrical shape on the left hand corner of Dumbledore's desk. It was completely stationary save for the spherical gem on its top. The gem was a milky color that swirled inside itself, almost like contained smoke.

"I daresay you have found interest in one of my trinkets, Miss Evans?"

At the sound of her name, she snapped her head forward. Her eyebrows were raised slightly, a flush creeping along her cheeks at such a direct address. He did not sound angry, however, and was looking at her with the faintest of smiles stretched over his lips.

"Yes, Professor," she confirmed. "It's quite lovely."

He passed his hand over the gem-topped cylinder, his long fingers seeming to interrupt the path of the smoke inside – despite not making contact with it. The swirling pattern changed, speeding up a bit, and the smoke turned a ruby red. As he retracted his hand, the smoke slowly settled back into its previous qualities.

"May I ask what it means, Sir?" This from the Head Boy, who up until that point had been silent in the chair beside her. She turned her attention to him for a moment only to find James equally enthralled with the instrument. The Headmaster smiled in a sad sort of way, crystalline blue eyes scanning the two youths before him.

Lily shifted in her seat, resisting a sudden urge to move. There was a silent stillness that settled in the room and she was all too aware of it. Contributing to the all-too-stationary atmosphere of the room was James's direct concentration as he leaned slightly forward in his chair, eyebrows furrowed in thought. She had just begun to wonder if the question was going to be answered at all when Professor Dumbledore finally spoke. She realized she was holding her breath, only exhaling upon the Headmaster's words.

"Turmoil," he spoke softly. "Its sensitivity to human touch grows as does the disturbance outside these walls. I suppose you are both aware of the events that the Daily Prophet takes liberty to censor?"

"Yes, Sir," James answered instantly.

"Some," Lily responded truthfully, twisting her hands in her lap. "Cyril told me the Prophet is withholding some information. And I know about the Death Eater attack on Marlene McKinnon's family," she added.

"The McKinnon's are not the first, nor will they be the last, family affected by this war."

Her heart sped up a few notches. The word has been thrown around before – many students and adults alike have been referring to these uneasy times as a war. She had even thought of it as such on occasion. But there was something about hearing it from Albus Dumbledore himself that made it feel real.

"So that's what it is?" she asked quietly, looking at the Headmaster with wide eyes.

"I regretfully confirm that this is a war, Miss Evans."

The frankness with which he spoke was alarming. Had such questions been posed to any other professor, they likely would have shushed and avoided the topic. They would have been treated simply as students, and perhaps rightfully so. In that moment, speaking with Professor Dumbledore, Lily began to feel the burden of adulthood. His words were laden with truth and reality, no use coddling or sugarcoating.

"If it's a war, Sir," she pressed, "why aren't we fighting back?" She shifted forward in her seat, tucking her hair behind her ears. Before the Headmaster could form a response, she added, "I mean, there is all this stuff happening and it's being covered up and very few truly know what is going on. What is our side doing?"

"Your allegiance is clear," he said knowingly, nodding his head ever so slightly. She furrowed her eyebrows, confused as to whether there had ever been any doubt of what side she would be playing for. As if reading her mind, Dumbledore continued. "There may be a friend of yours who finds himself less-than-pleased."

Lily stiffened in her seat, knuckles white as her hands gripped the edge of her chair. She could feel James staring at her, silent in thought she assumed. She rather wished he would speak up, interject, or offer his own opinion on the matter. Wasn't that his usual tactic? She felt uncomfortable in the impending silence, knowing exactly what friendship the Headmaster was referring to. Which could only mean one thing if her analytical skills were correct: Severus was on the other side.

But he wasn't a friend anymore, was he? As far as she was concerned, that was the last term she would use to describe their attachment. They _had_ been friends – great friends, even. One might even say they were the best of friends. But that had been over a year ago. She felt a pain in her chest that seemed to spread through her veins, down her arms and legs and to her fingers and toes. An all-encompassing pain: the dreadful realization that the utterance of that word, Mudblood, was just the first stop on a downward spiral.

"So, Slytherins are the other side," James cut in boldly, much to Lily's relief (though she would never admit that out loud). She turned her head to look at him, meeting his eyes as she did so. He held her gaze for a mere moment before looking back at the Headmaster.

"Not all Slytherins are the enemy, Mister Potter. To believe such is to encourage disparity within Hogwarts." Professor Dumbledore paused, folding his hands neatly in front of him and looking at the Head Girl and Boy before him. His eyes seemed sad behind the half-moon glasses perched atop his nose. "Your positions this year entail more responsibility than may have usually been expected. We have entered a time of disquietude that has the potential to permeate these walls."

"I wasn't a Prefect, Sir."

"That is correct."

"So why –"

"I think you'll find yourself to be perfectly qualified for the tasks at hand," he answered with a sense of finality. James had the decency to nod and accept it as it was. "As it is, the night is drawing to an end. I expect you are tired after a long day." He rose to his feet, James and Lily following suit. "Mister Potter, Miss Evans," he said with a bow of the head directed to each student, a silent dismissal.

_xxx_

It was a silent procession back from Dumbledore's office. This was of neither party's preference, particularly, but rather due to a need to process the information they were just granted.

Having a Headmaster like Albus Dumbledore required much thought. James had to admit, it was remarkably impressive the way that man could take a seemingly simple question and wind his answer into something of a riddle. Somehow, he was always leaving with more inquiries floating around his brain than there were when he entered.

Tonight was no different.

He was thinking about Marlene McKinnon and the current state of her family; he was thinking about Regulus Black and the reactions he knew how to draw from Sirius; he wondered about this war, about Lily Evans's desire to take a stand; he thought about the term "friend" that Dumbledore used when referring to Severus Snape; he questioned his Headmaster's point-of-view on Slytherins. But mostly, James Potter still had _no bloody idea_ why he was Head Boy.

At first, it all seemed a lark. The heavy silver badge engraved with the letters "HB" in exquisite, curling type was a novelty. Wearing it earned him genuine smiles and congratulations from his parents, hearty laughs from his best mates. The title was one that had a female counterpart, and not just any female – the one female he truly admired. In theory, being Head Boy was the best thing to happen to him since becoming the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.

Theory differed from practice, though, and _that_ is where this began to stray from fun.

It wasn't that he was afraid of having responsibilities. While he may be considered one of the mischief making Marauders roaming the school, James was very conscious of when something required his full attention. He got excellent marks every term (save for Divination and Care of Magical Creatures – but that wasn't for want of trying) and he got all of his schoolwork completed. He practiced his wand work and did his best to perfect spells and incantations. And he even excelled beyond the curriculum when the circumstances called for such. Becoming an Animagus, for example, was a feat accomplished three years after discovering that one of his best mates was a werewolf.

But all of those things meant nothing when set against the reality that Dumbledore spoke of: a war. Somehow, James Potter figured that You-Know-Who couldn't care less about how many O. one received, whether or not they were Quidditch Captain, or if they were an unregistered Animagus.

"You're awfully quiet."

Her voice snapped him from his thoughts automatically. He looked up from the ground to see her head turned, facing him with a quizzical look. An eyebrow was quirked, green eyes widened slightly, and lips parted in a small 'o' shape. And just like that, she was staring straight ahead again, remaining a few footsteps in front of him.

"Thinking. Processing."

"About what Professor Dumbledore said?" she inquired. Her pace slowed just enough so he was taking strides beside her.

"And other things." James paused, rubbing at the back of his neck in an absentminded gesture. "Whenever I have to talk to that man, I just end up more confused than I was beforehand."

Lily snorted and stifled a laugh. She crossed her arms against her chest, looking at him with the faintest of smiles. "He's cryptic, that's for sure."

"If by cryptic you mean has a tendency to talk himself _and_ others in circles, then yes. By all means, the man is cryptic."

Her arms fell to her sides again, sighing as they swung loosely. "You know, I think he just likes to encourage us to think for ourselves."

"Or drive ourselves crazy wondering, as the case may be."

Lily stopped, clasping her hands in front of her and staring curiously at him. Upon realizing she was no longer walking alongside him, James also stopped, turning around to meet her eyes. He could have sworn there was a hint of amusement in her look, a slightly taut pull of her lips, stretching the corners just so.

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" she asked, a slight laugh escaping her mouth.

"I'm glad my distress is funny to you," he teased.

"Well, I'm just shocked is all. In the six years I've known you, I've never seen you get so flustered from what a Professor does or does not tell you."

"You underestimate me, Evans."

She raised an eyebrow and, without so much as a warning comment, continued on toward Gryffindor tower. "Someone has to," she called over her shoulder.

"And suddenly, the past six years make so much sense."

"Do they?"

"Well, no," he answered with a laugh. His own laughter, short as it may be, proved to be a relief to his ears. Even better was knowing he was with Lily. Laughing with Lily. A lightness, near-foggy, filled his brain at the thought.

"_Lily!_" a voice called, causing both of them to turn around and observe the newcomer.

And just like that, the lightheadedness turned into a sinking in his stomach as he watched Cyril Cooper approach the scene. His blonde hair was practically set on his head like a golden halo as he crossed in front of several lanterns that lined the castle walls. Lily's boyfriend was taller than James remembered – which was saying something, considering James himself stood at a fair six feet. Cooper must have been pulling at least six foot two, perhaps six-three. And as he drew closer to the pair of them, he adopted the falsely polite smile that James recognized as a warning.

"Cy!" she answered with a smile, one that reached ear-to-ear. "What are you doing out?"

"Fancied a walk," he answered, taking her hands in his when the distance between them had closed enough. "Lucky me, eh?"

Still grinning, Lily placed Cyril's hands at her waist. "Luckier even that I was just thinking about taking a walk." She paused, turning her head to address James. "You're good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Excellent. See you, Potter."

And with that, her attentions returned to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy whose hands drew her closer to him as they started their moonlight walk down the otherwise empty corridor. James was left in their wake, shoving his hands into his pocket and feeling worse than he had all evening.

_xxx _

"Meadowes cleaned up nice, don't you think?" said Sirius thoughtfully, tapping ash from his cigarette. Remus shot him a glare, quickly dismissed with a nonchalant shrug. "Cool your knickers, Moony. I'm just commenting. However, while we're on the subject I would like to point out that even Wormtail's got a bird."

The blonde boy looked up from his magazine upon hearing his name mentioned. "Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"

Nonplussed, Sirius blew a thin stream of smoke from his lips and stubbed out the cigarette. "No offence, but you're not exactly the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts."

This elicited a snort from Remus. "Right, as if I am."

"Not saying that, either, mate," he said with a smirk.

"This is the fourth girl you've attempted to make me comment on," he answered dully.

"She's got nice legs," said Peter, the magazine now dog-eared and closed beside him on his bed.

"She's got nice _ev_erything," amended Sirius with an appreciative sigh as he collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and his hands folded primly over his abdomen.

Remus seemed to have finally organized his school supplies and text books up to his own ridiculous standard and padded over to his own four-poster, sitting at the edge of the mattress. Sirius looked at him curiously upon rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

"Be that as it may," said Remus, "I'm really not interested."

"Analiese Simons?"

"_The fourth-year Hufflepuff?"_ sputtered Remus. "She's barely fourteen!"

"She's cute," shrugged Peter. Sirius bowed his head in the blonde-haired boy's direction, a silent agreement of his friend's statement.

"You lot need to find a new hobby. Ogling girls is getting old. _Besides_," Remus pressed on before he could be interrupted, "even if I was interested in a girl, it's not like I could go about dating her. Somehow, I doubt that would go over well. 'By the way, I'm a werewolf. Hope you don't mind that once I month I become a creature that could very well kill you without the slightest bit of effort!' Idiots."

Sirius looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Remus was once more digging through his shabby, worn trunk. Corners of books were poking out as he rummaged into the depths, vials of ink and boxes of quills clinking around in disruptive cacophony. He finally extracted a length of parchment and a quill, slamming the scratched-and-dented lid of his travelling trunk shut. He was hunched over the paper, now, and began scribbling.

It was no surprise that, as Sirius sat up and had a better view of his friend's face, there were dark circles lining the underneath of otherwise bright, warm eyes. His skin was still pale and cheeks slightly sunken from the previous week's full moon. Hair the color of dust was longer than usual, curling slightly at the ends and, combined with the pallor of his face, it gave him a more worn look than usual.

It was sad, really, the outlook on life that Remus Lupin adopted due to the events of his life. Sadder still was the reluctance he had in listening to his friends' advice. Remus, ever the planner, was wholly insistent in his point-of-view that he can never be truly happy. Alas, those are not the words he would chose – but Sirius, James, and Peter would easily agree that happiness was out of reach, according to the teenage werewolf. Beyond the three boys, Remus had never allowed himself to get close to many students throughout his six-going-on-seven years at Hogwarts; and even then, he tried to ignore their budding friendship as much as possible. Luckily for all involved, Remus Lupin recognized defeat and realized it would be easier to join them rather than resist.

"I know you won't listen to me," Sirius said nonchalantly, "but I think you've got to learn to relax a bit. Go with the flow."

"Easy for you to say," Remus muttered without looking up from his parchment. "You're not the one who turns into a savage animal once a month."

"I'm just saying: you deserve to be happy."

"I am happy," he said strongly, looking up to meet his friend's eyes. Amber met grey in a determined stare. Sirius relented, shrugging and collapsing back onto his four-poster bed with a heaving sigh.

"Well, that makes one of us." This proclamation from James who, upon entering their dormitory, immediately threw himself onto his bed, face down, tugging listlessly at the ends of his hair.

The other three teenagers glanced warily at the sight of their evidently distraught friend before exchanging glances with each other. After several rounds of fervent pointing, raised eyebrows, and even a few mouthed profanities, it was decided that the task of interjecting would fall upon Peter. Sirius and Remus watched amusedly as their round-faced, blonde friend rose from his bed and, without much fervor or enthusiasm, approached James Potter's bed.

"Er—Prongs?" Nothing. "_Prongs_?" A weary grunt. "_JAMES_."

"What?" The word was muffled, seeing as it was spoken straight into his mattress.

"You're doing it again."

"Hrmph?"

"Er—being dramatic."

And with that, James rolled onto his back, throwing his hands behind his head and staring pointedly at the hanging above his bed. Peter looked to his left and right, where Remus and Sirius were sitting on their beds, respectively. The latter urged him on with vague gesture while the former shrugged, the corner of his mouth turned up in an amused smirk. Sighing, Peter crossed his arms and took a step closer to his mate's bed.

"For the record, you are the one who told us to warn you when you are indulging in histrionics," Remus offered from his post, raising an eyebrow.

"Which is what you're doing," offered Peter.

"So if you'd please grow a pair, that would be brilliant," concluded Sirius.

There was a moment of silence during which the three boys stared expectantly at the disgruntled James. After what must have been a sufficient amount of wallowing and self-pitying, he sat up and scanned the sight before him: Sirius, who raised a challenging eyebrow; Peter, who smiled empathetically; and Remus, who sighed.

"I'm disowning you all. Except maybe Pete, who at least tried to show some sympathy."

"So what did Evans do _this_ time, Prongs?" inquired Sirius, his voice dripping with faux enthusiasm and interest.

"Sod off."

"Well, fine. If you don't want to talk about it, then don't. _So_, Moony. Back to our dear Dorcas Meadowes. I really think you ought to give it a go."

"Don't be a prat."

"I'm just trying to help. But since no one is interested, I'll focus my attentions elsewhere. _Pete!_ How's the bird?"

"_Excuse me,_" James interrupted, sitting up with a roll of his eyes. "If you would stop being a complete tosser, maybe I'll actually talk to you lot about how much of an absolute arse Cyril Cooper is."

Peter snickered. "We already knew that, didn't we? The bloke is perfectly dull. I don't see why we don't prank him – _really_ get him good, you know? I think if we put enough thought into it, we'd come up with something excellent. We always do."

Sirius snorted, laughing at the sense of pure pride that Peter couldn't keep out of his voice. That boy's love for planning out their pranks rivaled the actual execution of said tomfoolery. "I would like to remind you, Prongs, that Evans is happy. Remember that? Happy. _She's happy_. Accept it. And, hey, since Moony's not interested – what are your thoughts on Meadowes? I know she's not the redheaded siren you're so infatuated with, but I think she's cute. She's got this whole feisty brunette thing going on, not to mention she has _really_ –"

"Oy, Padfoot," interrupted Peter, nodding towards the window upon which perched a worn-looking tawny owl. The bird groomed himself, feathers ruffling as he cooed softly. Brows furrowed, Sirius quickly snatched the envelope from Pete's extended hand.

_S-_

_Dad's health declining. Not sure how much longer he's got. Mum's memory getting worse. Meet me, Hogsmeade, Sept the 4._

_-M _

He read the letter several times before lowering it from in front of his face. As usual, Marlene McKinnon's sentiments were scrawled sparsely across the piece of parchment. Her handwriting was sloppy, letters linked together and near-indecipherable, had he not been familiar enough with her penmanship. With the words committed to memory, he was left staring at the shapes her words made, finding something solid within the note he could hold onto.

He knew his friends must be staring, asking the question in their mind: what does it say? But Sirius could not bring himself to speak just yet. He couldn't even tear his eyes away from the letter for a moment, unable to face his friends' stares.

All he wanted – _needed_ – was to talk to her, immediately. That couldn't happen, though, and he knew that. She would, of course, be with her parents right now. Sleeping – or rather, trying to. The girl was the definition of strong, and he knew that if she required his presence, or his words, or thoughts – she would tell him immediately. If she could wait until the weekend for his company, he could wait for hers.

It always struck him something fierce how strongly he truly cared for Marlene McKinnon and her family. It was easy to take friendships for granted. She was a near-permanent fixture in his life, between their nearby homes, belonging to Gryffindor, getting along with his other mates perfectly. He hadn't realized how important she was until she was gone, until she was hurting, until her entire world was in the process of crumbling around her.

"Oliver and Erin McKinnon are in rough shape," Sirius said finally, folding the parchment into even squares. His voice sounded and felt strange, forced. "I'm seeing Marlene on Sunday."

And with that, he looked up, meeting the three sets of eyes that were watching him warily. Nodding once, head feeling heavy, he walked across the dormitory and into the bathroom, where he sat slumped against the wall for a while. He balled the note into his fist, the parchment crumpling satisfyingly into his palm, while his other hand ran through his hair, sighing heavily.

_xxx_

The walk back to the Gryffindor tower was a long one. It was perhaps the longest Lily Evans had ever taken in her six-going-on-seven years at the school. She felt uncertain, wary, and unsettled. Quite frankly, she wished she could go back in time two hours and had opted out of walking away with Cyril; instead, she would have liked to just gone back to the Gryffindor Common Room immediately upon leaving Dumbledore's office.

"Do you believe in this war?" she had asked him.

Lily's voice was raspy from having been unused for the better part of an hour. In fact, these mouths had found a rather more entertaining use, involving a lot of closeness and accompanying cramps caused by the small spare broom closet. She straightened up, leaning against the back wall in a clear space surrounded by wooden buckets and sweeping brooms. Her fingers worked at her hems, tidying her skirt and tucking her blouse into the waist.

"Well if that isn't the most romantic thing I've ever heard, I don't know what is."

"Shut up," she murmured, smacking him lightly across the chest with her hand. "It's a legitimate question."

Cyril raised an eyebrow at her. "Is this really what you think about when we're snogging?"

"Well, no," Lily said with a shrug. "I just started thinking about the conversation Dumbledore had with Potter and me."

"Merlin, Lily," he laughed. "On second thought, I'd prefer you were thinking about war rather than our Headmaster and the boy who wants to shag you."

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and furrowing her eyebrows as she threw him a look. "Cyril, come _on_," she pleaded, following him out of the closet. "Please be serious for a moment."

"Okay. I'm sorry," he said with a smile, reaching for her hand and entwining her fingers in his. "Serious time. Now, can you repeat the question?"

Cyril Cooper really was quite endearing. Blue eyes looked warmly down at her, that smile never quite leaving even as his mouth relaxed. Blonde curls fell across his forehead and she resisted the urge to loop her fingers around them, to try and tame them. She returned his smile, pressing her palm closer against his as she gently rubbed the top of hand with her thumb.

"Professor Dumbledore called this all a war."

"It is."

She sighed. "But hearing it from our Headmaster? It made it real."

"It is," the boy repeated, matching her sigh and lifting his free hand to cup her cheek. "It really, truly is."

"But do you believe in it?" Lily inquired, raising an eyebrow delicately as she stopped her stride to look at him. She wasn't entirely sure why, but it was important that she heard his opinion on the matter. She wanted to know he was on her side, know he had similar thoughts on the turmoil that was taking place outside of these walls.

But the answer wouldn't come, at least not yet. In that moment, the shrill laughter of Eleanor Parkinson echoed against the stone walls of the corridor. Lily immediately dropped Cyril's hands from hers, clasping her palms behind her and taking a step towards the approaching pair. For the girl, whose giggling and pixie-like frame were unmistakable, was linking arms with a taller, slightly-broader boy with dark hair and brooding looks. Regulus Black, certainly.

"Lily?" Cyril asked, reaching a hand out to try and pull her back. She ignored it and pressed forward, chin raised and face set as she quickly approached the pair.

"Cy, go, please."

"Lily –"

"_Go_," she insisted, turning her head to shoot him a strong look. Not until he began backing away, albeit very slowly, did she return her attention forward.

It wasn't long before two more figures joined the queue. There was a small falter in her step when she recognized one of these newcomers to be Severus Snape. Beside him was, she thought, Alecto Carrow. There was a considerable amount of tension between the two, made clear through the coupling expressions of frustration and annoyance. Alecto kept muttering things to him, gesturing to Black and Parkinson. There was a fair bit of distance put between them, up until Alecto noticed Lily. After that, the tall, dark-haired girl sped up significantly

"You're out after hours," Lily said, stopping and placing her hands on hips as she eyed the four Slytherins that stood before her.

"Doing rounds," Alecto sneered, her voice falsely sweet.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You're not supposed to be out of your dormitory right now."

"And you are?" This from Regulus, who looped an arm around Eleanor's waist.

"It's not your job to question me, Black. I'm sure I could arrange another detention for you, though."

"You'd like that, I'm sure," said Carrow. "Safe for you when all the big, bad boys and girls are in detention. Isn't it, sweetheart?"

Lily let out a laugh that she hoped came off more confident than she felt in that moment. She was spared the task of crafting a decent-sounding response when Severus's voice cut through her laugh.

"Alecto," he warned, the name coming out in a slow drawl. "Not worth your time."

For the first time, she met his eyes. She could feel her heart speeding up, her palms growing sweaty and mouth dry as she looked at him. There was something new hiding behind those familiar eyes, dark and unwarranted.

"Empty threats," Lily said. Her voice sounded strange and foreign to her own ears.

"I wouldn't test that theory if I were you," Black said. Eleanor made a sound half-way between an excited squeal and stifled giggle.

"I highly suggest the lot of you get to your dormitories right now," she said, thankful for the strength that managed to find its way into her voice.

"That _would _be ideal," added a voice from behind her, new to the mix. Lily turned her head, though she didn't need to see the face to know it was James Potter. A few feet behind him, to her surprise however, was Cyril.

"Isn't this cute!" shrieked the Carrow girl. "Lily Evans and her Knights in Shining Armor. Just in time."

"Sod off," said James with a snort.

"Or what? More detentions?" asked Black. "Don't worry. The girl already warned me."

"What _was_ Dumbledore thinking," said Eleanor, "putting these two in charge of the student population?"

"He wasn't," answered Alecto.

Professor Dumbledore's words from earlier were ringing in her ears, bouncing off every surface of her brain like a never-ending game of pinball. Encourage disparity, war, a less-than-pleased friend, choosing sides. She couldn't focus. It all seemed so different. For years, Lily Evans spent her time exchanging words, quips, snarky remarks with these Slytherins. It never amounted to much more than an argument, an evident disagreement of where the other deserved to stand. But now, those same retorts carry a new meaning.

Turmoil.

"Everyone better leave this bloody corridor right now, or I _will_ alert Filch," she snapped. The back-and-forth that was taking place between Potter and Black had ceased and all heads were staring at her now. "This is the last thing any of us needs to be dealing with right now."

"Sweetheart, this is only the first thing we'll be dealing with," Carrow answered, a smirk twisting its way onto her features as she gestured to the rest of the group. "Come on. Let the girl think she's won this one."

One-by-one, slowly, they retreated down the corridor.

"Send my love to the McKinnons," said Black before turning his back.

James immediately came into Lily's peripheral vision, his wand still in his pocket; his hands were clenched into fists and arms extended, looking quite ready to launch himself at the younger brother of his best mate and land a few punches, perhaps a kick or two as well. With reflexes she didn't even know she had, Lily reached to her left and grabbed him by the arm, managing to halt him. The surprise of her touch, as she dug her fingers into his arm, must have been what stopped him. He stumbled away as she released him, her arm still hovering awkwardly at her side, extended, ready to stop him again if necessary.

Severus was the last to begin the walk back down the corridor, and, Lily saw, had watched the exchange with an impartial expression. For the second time, she met his eyes. Perhaps she was making it up, but she could have sworn there was a question behind his look this time.

But she looked away, turning her head to face James. His chest was rising and falling heavily, quickly; his fists were still clenched tightly. He was standing taller than she had ever seen him, alert.

"They're not worth it," she said, her voice cutting clear through the silence. He didn't give any recognition of hearing her. Thoughtlessly, she touched her hand to his arm again, gently this time. Her fingers barely met his forearm, it was that light a touch. But it did the trick, and he looked down at her. "They're not worth it," she repeated. "Let's go."

"Yeah," he muttered.

By the time Lily looked back in front of her, Severus had turned and began his way back down the corridor. It wasn't until she exhaled deeply that she realized she was holding her breath; and it wasn't until Cyril Cooper set his hands on her shoulders and whispered unintelligible comforting words to the top of her head that she remembered he was there; and until James Potter sidestepped awkwardly away, she realized her hand was still on his arm.

For a brief moment she wondered if someone cast a Forgetfulness Charm on her, given the ease with which she was forgetting things.

"I want to go to bed," she said and stepped forward, turning to face Cyril.

"Goodnight, Lily," he said, going in to kiss her. Feeling slightly nauseous and overwhelmed, she turned her head so he met her cheek instead of her lips.

"'Night, Cy."

Thus began the longest walk to the Gryffindor tower. She couldn't tell if she was walking slower than usual, or if it was the overload of thoughts running through her head, or perhaps the fact that James Potter was completely silent that made it so. She was particularly grateful for that last one. Strangely enough, it was comforting to have him padding alongside her, a wordless presence. He did not speak until she addressed him.

"Did Cyril get you?" she asked. It was one of the thoughts plaguing her mind, and perhaps the easiest to recognize and acknowledge. A simple curiosity of how exactly James Potter found his way into the situation.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"Exactly."

She paused, looking up at him to try and read his expression. Nothing.

"Could you be any more cryptic?"

"Probably. Would you like me to try?"

"Not particularly."

She allowed silence to fall between them again, her fingers fiddling idly with the end of her braid. He was pulling a classic evasive move. But why, she wondered. She was fairly certain that "not exactly" meant "no." Besides, there was no logical way she could imagine Cyril Cooper running to James Potter to help. Especially after she had sent him away like that. But logic was not particularly present in her life at the moment, so perhaps anything was possible.

"Well that was nice of Cy to find you like that."

James paused, looking down at her. "He didn't. You know that."

"You're right, I do. So how did you just happen to stumble upon that scene?"

"I have my ways."

"Share with the class?"

"Can't. The lads would not be pleased."

"Ah," she said, a small smile crossing her lips for the first time in what seemed like forever. Time was particularly exaggerated, she noticed. "Boy code."

"You could say that."

And that was the end of the conversation.

The rest of the trek to the Gryffindor Common Room passed in comfortable silence. Never did she think she would describe spending time with James Potter as such, but perhaps there was a first time for everything. For instance, she still did not know exactly how he found her – but Lily Evans was almost okay with that. Whatever information he was withholding, she did not particularly mind. In lieu of everything else that occurred over the course of the day and night, it was the least of her worries.

"Ficklefaeries," James said to the Fat Lady upon reaching the portrait hole entrance to their Common Room.

She climbed in after him, the warmth of Gryffindor tower hitting her immediately. Being well after midnight, the Common Room was empty. McGonagall would, of course, have insisted that everyone cleared out and rested up in preparation for the first day of classes tomorrow. A fire had been lit earlier, its embers now emitting dull orange light across a small radius. Black cloaks, discarded black hats, and a few red-and-gold ties littered some of the couches, abandoned by their owners. It seemed like no time had passed since June, as if the Gryffindor tower was frozen in time and everything was just as she left it.

For the first time that night, everything felt entirely all right. A sense of being home washed over her, relaxed her.

The Head Boy and Girl parted ways, each beginning the ascent to their respective dormitories. Lily paused, though, before disappearing further up the stairwell, and poked her head over the side.

"Thank you," she said.

James descended a few steps, also leaning over the banister to look at her. "For what?"

She paused, not entirely sure what to say. "Just – thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. She could hear the uncertainty in his voice. But when she offered a smile, he matched it, and she felt okay.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Lily."

And with that, she continued her journey up to the Seventh Year girl's dormitory. Alice and Dorcas were sleeping soundly in their beds; their calm, rhythmic breathing was a tell-tale sign. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, which was broken up only by a strip of moonlight streaming in through the window, Lily looked around. With a sharp pang, she noticed the empty, untouched bed of Marlene McKinnon. She thought it ironic how sometimes the lack of a person's presence could make a greater impact than actually being there – just as silence has the tendency to speak louder than words.

Taking care to be as noiseless as possible, she crossed the dormitory to her bed. Not bothering to change except for slipping off her shoes, Lily climbed under the covers. She was thankful that sleep hit her almost immediately upon her head hitting the pillow.

For a night, at least, her thoughts were kept at bay and she was lulled into a dreamless sleep.

_xxx_

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><p><em><strong>AN |<strong>_so there you have it. please review! it seriously encourages me SO MUCH! also, you all make me smile. check out my tumblrs - astralsymphony and sepiadaydream. if you have any questions/comments that you'd like a response to, email me at ansimeone (at) gmail (dot) com or send me an ask on my tumblr(s). THANKS. _  
><em>


	4. Chapter Three

_****_**AUTHOR'S NOTE | **okay SORRY FOR THE WICKED LONG WAIT but life got ahead of me. So here is chapter three, FINALLY. Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, the patience, and the continued support. You guys are amazing. And since I got several requests for a previous chapter summary at the beginning of new chapters, I've included that this time! I'm really dreadful at synopses, so I apologize. But it gets the point across.

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><p><em><strong>previously |<strong>_After Sirius discovers Regulus's involvement in the attack on Marlene's family, a confrontation between the brothers occurs on school grounds during the unloading of the carriages. James attempts to break it up just as McGonagall calls order and issues detention to the three teenagers. Lily berates Sirius for his behavior, becoming particularly frustrated when he diffuses the tension of such serious matters with joking. James and Lily have a preliminary meeting with Dumbledore that leaves them uneasy. For James, he unsettled by Dumbledore's decision to appoint him Head Boy; for Lily, the wise Headmaster's proclamation of a state of war and unrest leaves her second-guessing many things. All this aside, James still pines after Lily who is still in a relationship with Cyril Cooper. Later, Sirius receives an owl from Marlene requesting he meet her at Hogsmeade that weekend. Lily and Cyril are accosted by some Slytherin students. She sends Cyril away and attempts to deal with them on her own. She begins to regret the decision and is grateful when James (and Cyril) suddenly appears and assists her in handling the situation. After several empty threats, the group of Slytherins retreat back to their dormitories and Lily, saying goodbye to Cyril, heads on back to the Gryffindor Common Room with James at her side. To his surprise, she thanks him and wishes him goodnight before ascending the stairs to her dormitory.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

The first week of term has a tendency to fly by in an obscure blur of insignificant dramatics. This, naturally, is stemmed from the simple fact that teenagers are known to change drastically over the course of a summer. It is frightful enough to stuff hundreds of eleven-to-seventeen-year-olds in one confined space (no matter how large) under normal circumstances, let alone after they all spent a summer writing and ignoring, loving and distancing, growing pretty and accessing hormones. At any rate, based on this logic it is only natural for that first, crazed week of school at Hogwarts to speed past at an alarming rate.

For Lily Evans, however, this phenomenon was credited to something other than an influx of hormones.

"_Are you bloody joking?!_" she whined on Tuesday, brandishing the piece of paper in her hand as if it were a weapon.

"All right, my darling friend of such sweet disposition, let me make myself understood. Shrieking at me and waving around that letter is not going to solve anything. Not to mention the fact that I haven't the slightest clue what you're on about." Dorcas's sweet words dripped heavily with sarcasm.

"This is all a cruel, cruel joke. It is. It _has_ to be. No other explanation!" She let out a sharp laugh, echoing that of a mad-scientist. Dor sighed, collapsing to her back, her feet dangling over the side of the tall bed.

"You know, Lily… specificity might suit you. You should try it sometime."

As if just now noticing the presence of her spunky friend, Lily glared. She was inspecting the ends of her chestnut-brown hair, lips pursed in concentration. Typical Dorcas Meadowes – always feigning indifference so to hide the actual burning desire to access every bit of information passing her way.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No, Lily. No I do not."

"It's a bloody _wedding invitation_."

Dor sat up again, blinking several times at her friend as she folded her hands in her lap. She very diplomatically cleared her throat to hide the laugh that was trying to force itself out. "Ah, yes, weddings. Absolutely dreadful. I now understand _exactly_ why you're moaning about like a banshee."

Lily heaved a sigh and collapsed at the end of her friend's bed. Unceremoniously, she held the creamy-pink, lace-trimmed piece of paper in front of her and recited its literature in monotone. "You are cordially invited to attend the joyous union of Vernon F. Dudley and Petunia M. Evans, set to wed on the most romantic day of love, February the 14th, 1978 … blah-blah-_bloody_-_blah_!"

Overwhelmed by her vexation, Lily frantically crumpled the invitation in her fist and threw it to the other side of the wall. She and Dorcas watched intently as it bounced off the window and rolled a few paces on the ground, finally settling in a sad, shadowy spot on the dormitory floor.

"You're completely nuts. You know that, right?" Dorcas asked blandly after a moment of silence which was spent staring at the withered invitation.

"That's an exaggeration, Dor," she replied shortly.

"Tell that to the invitation, Lil."

Opting out of a verbal response, Lily decided it would be far more effective to swat repeatedly at her friend's arm, stopping only when the victim jumped up from the end of the bed and scurried to the abandoned wedding invitation. She picked it up and smoothed it in her hands, uncurling its edges and flattening it as best she could with the help of the wall against which it was thrown. "Just in case," she cooed, focusing her attention on the lacy edges and ignoring the redhead's stare.

"In case of _what_," she whined.

Dorcas chose that moment to shoot her a look, deadpan except for the raise of an eyebrow. Lily would be lying if she claimed that there was not a brief moment when she questioned her attendance to Petunia's wedding. Dor was well aware of the rocky relationship that Lily had with her older sister. This was not a new development, but rather something that had drastically deteriorated ever since her first day at Hogwarts.

It was with excessive clarity that Lily Evans recalled her first trip to King's Cross. A delicate eleven-years-old, she was nervous and excited and terrified and thrilled – all at once. Her mother and father, though supportive of their youngest daughter's newfound path in life, were equally anxious. They tried their best to hide their anxiety, as good parents often do, but even at a young age she could read her family's emotions. Her father compensated for his uncertainty with dull jokes and boisterous laughter; her mother was all smiles and flighty giggles, but the façade could not take away the white of her knuckles as she pushed Lily's carriage or the constant straightening of her blouse (a nervous habit that must have been genetic, for all the Evans women were guilty of it).

Petunia, on the other hand, was angry and jealous and perfectly sour – and she was not about to try and hide it. As Lily lay in bed on her first night at Hogwarts, silently trying to tune out the arguing of Dorcas and Alice, her sister's words echoed unkindly in her ears: "That's where you're going. A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy… weirdos, that's what you two are. It's good you're being separated from normal people. It's for our safety." And from that day on, the words only got worse and more personal. Winter and summer holidays were absolutely dreadful. Scathing glares and insults were the only means of communication. Lily, of course, stopped trying to improve things after that first summer. She conceded to her sister's behavior and, instead of sulking and showing how upset she truly was, began to craft her own cruel words and wielded them with a sharp tongue and even sharper stares.

Lily sighed. "Where's Alice?"

"Am I not indulging your juvenile ramblings well enough, my dear?"

"Sod off, Dorcas. I just haven't seen her since dinner."

"You're right … Send out the search party immediately."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a right bitch sometimes?"

"Yes: you."

Lily smiled, her mood lightening someone. Dorcas, for all her shortcomings in the kindness department, did know how to coax out a smile. Of course, she could never inform her friend of this – that would only ruin it, for she'd probably feel the need to change her ways. Merlin forbid anyone actually found Dorcas pleasant, after all.

"She's probably off with Frank, at any rate," Dorcas amended, flopping back onto her bed.

Lily, after regaining the balance that was thrown off by the weight that Dor added, frowned slightly. "Frank? I thought she was done with that bloke," she said with a flair of frustration.

"She's always 'done with' Longbottom, wouldn't you say?" Dor responded wisely. "Anyway, she –"

"Alice!"

And, as if properly on cue, Alice St. James all but glided into their dormitory. She had changed since dinner, her small frame no longer donning the required school uniform that the other two still wore. Instead, she wore a long, tan peasant skirt that fluttered about her ankles and a simple white t-shirt. Her shoulder-length, blonde curls were tied back with a navy ribbon. In addition, her face seemed decorated with some light make-up – a glistening white-gold making her brown eyes shine and a gloss to make her lips pop.

"Oh, thank _Merlin_, she's back!" cried Dor. "Alice, Lily was about to have a cow. She was worried _sick_ about your whereabouts. Don't frighten her like that again!" In a show of histrionics, she threw a hand against her forehead, heaving a heavy sigh of relief.

Confused, Alice looked to her red-headed friend for clarification. "Ignore her," Lily instructed. "She's having another one of her crazy spells."

"I'm not the one who was assaulting a harmless piece of paper, Lil."

"Can someone _please_ explain what's going on?" Alice said, eyebrows furrowed and a frown in place.

"What's got you all fancied up, Al?" inquired Lily with a small smile. "You look lovely."

A light blush crept across the blonde's cheeks and she bit down on her lower lip to keep from grinning madly. "Oh, well –"

"Al-_ice_," cooed Dorcas, "I thought you were finished with that Longbottom boy? He's just plain wrong for you – and rather dull, if you ask me. The pair of you," she said, presenting a gesture to encapsulate both Alice and Lily, "have the worst taste in men."

"_Oy!_" protested Lily.

Alice, however, straightened. Hands set on hips and chin raised triumphantly, she proudly amended Dorcas's statement. "Actually, Dor, I was having a walk with Sylvan Campbell."

"The Hufflepuff Prefect?!" Lily shrieked; Alice's curls bobbed as she nodded. "Oh, Alice, that's marvelous!"

"He's _real_ swell, and quite fit – not that that's terribly important, of course." Alice's speaking sped up as she continued. "He and Cyril are pretty good mates, too, Lily! We could plan a trip to Hogsmeade, the four of us." Alice was positively beaming, her eyes wide and smile broad. "You could find someone, too, Dor, and come with us. Maybe Sylvan knows someone – oh! Remus Lupin is friendly enough with him and he's single. Come to think of it, he's been single as long as I can remember. Maybe he's not into girls," she said thoughtfully. "Oh well! Don't worry, Dorcas. We'll find you a proper lad," she ended cheerfully.

The single girl in question stared blankly at the short blonde girl who stood before her, almost bouncing with the excitement of her newly discovered plan. "Oh, Alice. Alice, Alice, Alice," she sighed. "You are the flightiest bird I know. What in the name of Merlin makes you think I want to go on a triple date with you lot, let alone be set up in the first place?"

"I just thought –"

"_And_, what are you doing seeing Sylvan Campbell?" she asked, the boy's name dripping with contempt.

Alice frowned. "We're not exactly seeing one another, Dor. And he's really nice. I figured I would –"

"I'll bet he's a right stand-up guy," she pressed, "but you're supposed to be with Frank." Lily let out a laugh, which she promptly tried to hide by covering her mouth with her hand. "Shove it, Lily."

Alice, though, was sputtering in disbelief. "_Dorcas Meadowes_ _what are you talking about_?" she said between gritted teeth. "Two bloody seconds ago you were telling me he was dull and I had a terrible choice in men!"

"Well he is, and you do, but you love him."

"I'm done with him!"

"No you aren't. You love him."

"He's a complete wanker."

"Yes, he is. But you love him."

"You are the worst _ever_, Dor!"

"Yes, I am. But you still love Frank Longbottom."

In an act of consent, she crawled onto her bed, laying with her head at the end and staring sadly at Lily and Dorcas, who remained seated at the end of the latter's four-poster. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I'm not telling, I'm reminding."

"It doesn't matter any longer, all right? Frank and I are, well, done. I'm keeping my options open, looking for the other fish in the sea, and right now that's Sylvan."

Dorcas was silent, engaging in something of a stare-down with Alice. Lily watched the pair of them. She couldn't help but smile; Dorcas truly did care for Alice and her wellbeing. She had an awful way of showing of most of the time, but she always had the best of intentions. Some might call it tough-love. Lily thought it almost sisterly and it reminded her of the early years of her and Petunia's relationship.

"Fine," Dorcas spoke again. "Okay, Al. I'll let you have this one. You enjoy Sylvan. Get it out of your system. But remember: you love Frank."

"You think he's dull," she sulked.

"She also says that Cyril's dull," Lily offered with a shrug.

"Yes, but you don't love Cyril," Dorcas smarted.

Momentarily taken aback, the red-headed girl snorted, thwacking her friendly lightly on the back of her head. "Well, pish-posh. What do you know about love, Dor?" she said with a laugh.

Dorcas returned the laugh: "Much more than you would think, Lily. So much more."

xxx

For Sirius Black, the first week of his Seventh Year passed abysmally slow. Each day presented itself as just another hurdle for him to overcome, inching closer minute-by-minute to the moment he would be able to hear Marlene McKinnon's voice and see her face, her freckles, her scars. He hated thinking about what she must look like. The simple note she had sent him on his first night back at Hogwarts did not bode well. Oliver McKinnon's health was declining, while his wife Erin's grip on reality slipped further and further from her fingertips. As close as Marlene's family was with one another, Sirius imagined it must be taking quite a toll on her. Add to that the factor of survivor's guilt and he was positive she was having an internal break-down.

As it tends to go, each class he was required to go to seemed insignificant and useless. They were simply barriers that were preventing Sunday afternoon from coming. Professors droned on endlessly, speaking adamantly about NEWTS and their looming futures and please, Mr. Black, could you kindly inform us what is so remarkably interesting about Ms. Meadowes's profile?

Sirius snapped his head forward, realizing that his focus, though entirely inward, appeared to be rather obsessively directed at the side of Dorcas Meadowes's face. He slouched back in his chair, clasping his hands together and placing them on the surface of the desk he shared with James.

"Just observing the perfect angle of her nose, Professor," he said dully.

This earned a small tide of laughter throughout the class. James snorted beside him, rolling his eyes. Dorcas, at the mention of her name and, furthermore, the alleged perfect slope of her nose, colored with embarrassment and shot her offender a stare worthy of a basilisk.

"As interesting as that may be, Mr. Black, I am going to request that you face forward and at least pretend to have some interest in the lesson." With one last withering look, stern and sharp, the Transfiguration professor proceeded with her lecture on the importance of reviewing their coursework from all six prior years of the class. And, after throwing an entertained smirk and indifferent shrug in Dorcas's direction, Sirius faced forward and continued to not pay attention.

Each class that week passed in much the same way. He was, however, far more careful to refrain from absently staring at some poor bird. Thankfully, he had James in all of his classes to keep him in check – which proved to be particularly useful when, apparently, his eyes were slipping carelessly in the direction of Hufflepuff Sylvan Campbell's crotch.

It was mid-evening on Wednesday night when his three best mates decided to host an intervention of sorts.

"Sirius, we know you're worried about her," Remus began tentatively.

The direct address caused him to raise his eyes from the parchment in front of him, just briefly enough to meet his friend's concerned eyes and then redirecting to their previous place. "That's all well and good, mate, but can we do this at another time? I've still got one more page of notes to copy down."

"Yeah. Thank Merlin I was paying attention in History of Magic, eh?" muttered James, not looking up from last week's issue of _Quidditch Weekly. _

"You have to pay attention. You're Head Boy," he retorted, his quill scratching furious across the parchment as he mindless copied James's notes. Sirius had a feeling he would be remembering very little about the House Elf Rebellion Scandal of 1634, let alone its resurgence during the first Muggle World War. His own family's elf probably lead the bloody thing, he thought wryly.

"The thing is, Padfoot," Remus started again, "you haven't quite been yourself this week."

Silence. An exchange of awkward glances between Remus, James, and Peter. Then:

"We think you should prepare yourself for the worst."

Sirius blinked, lifting his head and meeting eyes with each of the three boys. Remus looked apologetic, James matched his stare from behind clear lenses, and Peter frowned before avoiding the look.

"For fuck's sake, what's that supposed to mean?" he asked levelly, setting the quill down and standing up to properly face his friends.

It was James who spoke this time, carefully folding the corner of his page and tossing the magazine carelessly to his side before answering. "You know Marlene wouldn't ask to see you if it wasn't important."

"Her parents are bloody hospitalized! Obviously it's important." Sirius ran a hand through his hair before folding his arms neatly across his chest. "Wankers," he muttered.

"We're sorry," Peter apologized, frowning. He was always the first to sense a brewing altercation between his friends, eyes darting around to observe the behaviors of all three teenagers in the dormitory. And, with a deep breath he pressed forward, speaking like the words were rehearsed. "Just remember that you have two more days of classes to get through before you're meeting up with Marlene…" he said, trailing off and looking to James with furrowed brows.

"_And,_" James said, "you don't know what this is all about, what she's going to say. You need to keep in mind that you've got an entire _year_ of school ahead of you, Padfoot."

"Just don't do anything rash. We expect our best mate back here on Sunday evening," Remus added, his voice soft compared to the surety of James's.

A thick silence hung in the air as Sirius stared, unblinkingly, at each of his friends. Peter shifted uncomfortably from his desk while Remus adverted his eyes. James, alternatively, broke the silence.

"You can't fix her."

"Who said anything –"

"I know how you work."

"I'm not _trying _to fix anyone, James."

"Just promise me you realize that she might –"

"Oh, just _drop it_!" Sirius hissed, losing his cool for the first time. "You lot aren't my parents. Stop trying to act like it, yeah?"

"Padfoot –" started Remus, but he was interrupted before even able to form his thought.

"Madeleine let me touch her tits!" Peter exclaimed, an outburst of glee followed quickly by embarrassment as all three boys snapped their attention to him. "Er – sorry," he muttered, suddenly finding something remarkably interesting about the ground in front of him.

But the strange silence was broken, finally, as a consensus of pride overwhelmed the dormitory. Remus laughed, clapping his hands together a few times for emphasis; Sirius let out a triumphant cheer; James began a rousing chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!" Upon realizing that his friends were not primed to pummel him, Peter joined in the laughter.

Sirius sat back down in his chair, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. Leave it to Peter Pettigrew to deter a fight with the tales of his sexual escapades. Of course, Peter was a polite bloke who was not always the most popular with women. He was perfectly average, both in height and weight. His hair was sandy blonde and slightly wavy, cut just above his ears and with the slightest bit of uneven fringe brushing over his forehead. While he was a pureblood, Peter did not come from the same caliber of family as Black or Potter. Both of the aforementioned families were known for their wealth and historic bloodlines; however, one was rumored to have an affliction for the Dark Arts while the other was celebrated for their involvement in the justice system.

Sirius was particularly fond of the boy. Their friendship began in the middle of their first year at Hogwarts, after Pettigrew impulsively formulated a cover story for James and Sirius. The pair were late to Transfiguration due to the failed execution of prank involving Mr. Filch's new kitten and a strange statue of a one-eyed witch. Stumbling into class twenty minutes after its start, decorated with vicious-looking scratches all up and down their arms did not a happy Minerva McGonagall make. For whatever reason, before McGonagall could even properly berate the dark-haired duo, small Peter Pettigrew nearly knocked over his desk when he flew out of his chair to come to their defense. Without missing a beat he started wailing about Fiddles, his cat who caught a debilitating case of Dragon Pox. It just so happened that Potter and Black were two of his dorm mates and knew how to handle the dying animal and –

Well, the rest of the story was of no consequence. McGonagall was quick to silence the fast-talking boy and delivered detentions to all three of them. It was from that moment on that the three boys became inseparable.

Sirius reckoned that any lad willing to invent a dying pet and, consequently, earn an undeserved detention, warranted the beginning of a lifelong friendship. And as he looked over the three boys in front of him, all chatting animatedly about the details of Peter's date with Madeleine yesterday evening, Sirius felt the knot in his chest loosen just a bit.

_xxx_

Thursday, like all days, came and went.

James Potter attended his classes (Muggle Studies, Charms, and Double History – perhaps the single worst line-up in the history of Hogwarts class schedules), ate his meals, half-heartedly worked on his Transfiguration assignment, and began thinking about rescheduling try-outs for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team of which he was Captain.

Friday began much the same. Classes, meals, studying, and more planning for Quidditch. As expected, Sirius was remarkably unfocused throughout the day. Thankfully, James was paying proper attention during their practical Defense lesson and was able to keep his distracted friend from becoming significantly injured while practicing advanced nonverbal shielding and defensive apparition. He was also kind enough to remind Sirius of his detention with McGonagall – but James suspected his friend would have been perfectly content had it slipped both of their minds.

He met Ellen MacDonald, the sixth year female Prefect, in the Gryffindor Common Room promptly at 6:55PM. Like her younger sister Mary she was a tall, lithe girl with long limbs and defined features traced onto golden skin. But the similarities in appearances stopped there. Mary, a fourth year also in Gryffindor, wore her dark hair in waves beyond her shoulders and outlined her amber eyes in kohl. Ellen's hair perfectly framed her face and just barely reached her jawline and her dark-almost-black eyes were void of any fancy make-up.

James recognized her at Monday's Prefect Meeting as one of the girls who tried out for the Quidditch team last year. Her session, in which she went out for the position of Chaser, was abysmal – to put it kindly. James remembered wondering whether she had ever seen a broomstick before, what with the way she fumbled around in flight. He couldn't tell if his mind was playing tricks, but it seemed that, throughout the meeting, Ellen MacDonald seemed intent on avoiding eye contact with the Head Boy – until the end, when chairs and papers were shuffled as the Prefects began filing out of the office.

"Can I speak with you a moment?" came her voice from behind, accompanied by a tap on the shoulder. He spun around, eyebrows raised curiously. She was almost as tall as him, falling just a few inches short of his six feet. "If you aren't busy, that is," Ellen amended. James became aware of the slight Scottish coloring in her speech.

"Yeah, of course, that's fine. Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure if you remember me," she began awkwardly, her arms swinging limply at her sides as she, again, started to avoid meeting his eyes. "I was at the Quidditch trials last year."

"Oh," he began. "I see a lot of students, you know? Hard to keep track and all," he lied graciously. James shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes.

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly at this, a small excuse for a smile as she sighed. "Well it's probably best. I was dreadful."

"I – I'm sure it wasn't – not that I remember much – you had heart and –"

Ellen snorted. "Oh, yes. While I appreciate your tact at dancing around the matter, that's not my reason for talking to you." James blinked several times, looking at the girl with something reminiscent of amusement. He couldn't help but think her a particularly odd bird. "I just wanted you to know that I am _aware_ of how awful I played last fall and that I've practiced a lot and read up on the game, yeah? I'm going to give it another go this season. I thought I'd let you know ahead of time, so you can wipe out any preconceived notions of my horrible playing." She smiled. "I got quite good."

James laughed, nodding his head. "All right. Sounds reasonable. What kind of Captain would I be if I let my mind be addled by preconceptions."

"The sort who leads the Montrose Magpies, that's who," she said slyly.

Another laugh was earned, this time attracting the attention of the Head Girl who was slinging a bag over her shoulder when she looked curiously over at the pair. James raised his hand in a wave, which she returned halfheartedly before ushering herself out of the office.

"Been reading the magazines, I see. Loads of controversy over their new line-up, yeah, but where's your Scottish pride, MacDonald?"

She shrugged. "I'm more of a Wasps girl."

James made a face. "Oh, don't tell me… your loyalties lie with that pretty-boy, Bagman."

"Ludo Bagman is _quite_ attractive," she admitted, "but he is also a remarkable Beater."

It was his turn to shrug. "Be that as it may, I don't know why anyone would chose to root for the Wimbourne Wasps when Appleby is –"

"_ACH, Potter_!" she cried in despair, stamping her foot. "I'm not sure I want to try out for a team whose Captain honestly roots for the _Arrows_."

He heaved a dramatic sigh, running his hand through his hair . "All right, MacDonald. Enough of this blasphemy for one night. I must go meet up with the lads, now. Planning and all that," he said with a shrug. "McGonagall decided an extra night of patrols was a proper detention, so I believe you and I are in charge of rounds on Friday. That gives you a whole four days to get your loyalties in line."

"Fat chance," she said, reaching for her bag and gathering her quills and parchment. After offering a goodbye, she disappeared through the door.

"Evenin', traitor!" greeted Ellen cheerfully as he approached her on Friday. They matched in their long robes lined in maroon and gold, silver badges denoting their authorities pinned over their hearts. Her short hair was pulled back, shorter strands falling around her face.

"Me? Traitor?" he asked with a gasp of mock offense. "You're the one supporting the bloody Wasps. That damn team is probably the most inconsistent in its gameplay since –"

"Oi, not since Ludo was selected," she interrupted.

The two students exited through the portrait hole, turning left to begin the patrolling of the halls. Most unfortunately (and he internally cursed McGonagall for this), Friday evenings meant longer patrols. They were to begin at eight and go until midnight. Third years and under were required to be in their dormitories at eight o'clock, while the remaining lot of older students were granted an extra hour of freedom. After nine o'clock, however, the only people who were allowed to be wandering the castle were professors and those students on duty. As such, patrolling the corridors was not a particularly enjoyable activity.

For the past two years, Remus had been disappearing for hours at a time every two weeks or so. And for the past two years, James, Sirius, and Peter insisted that "doing rounds" was a dirty euphemism. James now understood that "doing rounds" was just that. Doing rounds. Luckily enough, his partner was an avid Quidditch fan. She may have played dreadfully, but she knew her facts.

"Have you ever considered looking into team management, El?"

"Merlin, no," she said with a laugh. "I'm not much of a sit-by-the-sidelines kind of girl. I want to be part of the action, you know?" That's unfortunate, James thought as he remembered last year's trial. As if sensing his hesitance, Ellen continued: "I've gotten loads better."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning –"

"Enough of the act, James," she insisted. "You know as well as I do that my flying was about as good as a baby flobberworm drunk off Firewhiskey."

"That's quite the visual."

"Well it's what it was. _But_," she pressed, "the fact of the matter is – last year, it was all just fun and games. That and a way to make my mark. Merlin knows _Mary_ has certainly been leaving hers. Just ask any bachelor at Hogwarts," she muttered, eyeing James suspiciously for a moment. He raised an eyebrow. "Just checking. Anyway. Sibling rivalries and the like aside, I actually learned a lot about the game."

"That I've noticed," James remarked. "You know your Quidditch better than most of my team."

"I'm going for Seeker this time."

"Interesting …" he hummed, taking pride in his ability to be so diplomatic over important matters such as Quidditch.

"Now, hear me out. I trained every day over the summer. Many different conditions, too! I built up my strength and my speed. Not to mention, I've got the build for a Seeker."

"You do," he said slowly, nodding along with her. "Just remember, Ellen: I don't pre-select my team. Even returning members have to –"

"Yes-yes-yes," she said quickly, waving her hands in front of her as if to extinguish his explanation. "I'm just making sure you know that – well – that I'm good. Quite good. So make sure you pay attention to my trial."

He couldn't help but smile. "Will do, MacDonald. I look forward to it."

"What about you?" she inquired as they turned the corner and landed on a staircase that had not been there before. It took them to the fourth floor – quite unlike the sixth floor they were expecting to end up on. With an unspoken acceptance that could only be acquired through spending years upon years at Hogwarts, they embraced their new path. "Is playing professional in your future?"

He shrugged. "Not likely."

"Oh, come on. You're brilliant at the sport – and the best Captain that Gryffindor has seen in _ages_. Even McGonagall said so."

"If someone were to approach me with a contract, I guess I'd take it," James said with a small laugh. "But it's nothing I'm looking to actively try."

"What _does_ have your attention, then? Must be good if it trumps Quidditch."

It was funny, James thought. He never issued much thought to playing the game professionally. In fact, it was only upon going to school that he began playing. Throughout his childhood, Quidditch was not much of a staple. There were, however, two years that James and his family were able to attend the World Cup.

His grandfather took him to see the infamous Romania v Australia match of 1965. They had a special booth and everything, the perfect seats. At five years old, James remembered thinking it to be the single greatest moment of his life. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his beloved Gramps was guest-announcing that year. Or perhaps it was due to the charmed, miniature kangaroos that glided through the sky in a unique synchronized pattern. James couldn't be too sure.

His second attendance was thanks to his mother. Before becoming an investigative journalist for the Daily Prophet, Rosalind Potter was an entertainment columnist. It was in 1970 that she was selected to cover the much-anticipated Scotland v England game. Now ten, James was far more interested in the game.

Even so, by the time he started at Hogwarts he had never much practiced with flying. After the 1970 Quidditch World Cup, James has requested a broomstick. His parents willingly indulged this request and purchased him the latest Comet model. However, when one is a ten-year-old boy, interests wane and become quickly replaced with something else. So it was not surprising when his flying phase was over and the still-pristine Comet 280X was prematurely retired to the cupboard.

What James Potter _did_ grow up around was politics. He told this to Ellen.

"I've always been sort of interested in it, yeah? Well – when I wasn't being an obnoxious prick. My grandfather was part of the Wizengamot for as long as I can remember. Really celebrated, actually. And with my mother working for the Prophet and my father acting as a Ministry-level Healer – well, you can imagine the sort of things that got talked about."

Ellen made a curious noise, a hum of interest. "So, you're going to try and work for the Ministry when you get out of here? Could I possibly be speaking to a future Minister of Magic?"

"Nah, I don't think I'm cut out for something like Minister of Magic. I want to make an impact though. There's a whole plight happening right now for Muggle Rights. I'd love to be a part of that. Especially with everything that's going on outside these walls."

"I've heard rumors," she said softly, eyebrows furrowed as she looked to him. He returned a significant look, eyebrows raised and chest heaving in a thick sigh. Ellen let out a low whistle. "So it's not good."

"Not by any stretch of the imagination. Which is why I want to fix it, you know? It's completely bollocks, all of this pureblood mania."

"How very noble of you."

"It's not noble, it's just – oi, wait. Hear that?" His voice dropped to a whisper and he stopped walking. Ellen also ceased her steps, though not before bumping against James's side. She let out a small "oomph" and then listened in silence, brows knit together in concentration.

Somewhere in the distance was the dull echo of music being played. It was unfamiliar, something he had never heard before. It had an unrecognizable quality to it and was muffled enough by the various walls and doors the sound travelled through to deem itself undecipherable. From the same direction he could hear hushed laughter – two different voices, one light and airy while the other was deeper. Silently, he followed the noise.

When James reached the source of the noise, it took him a moment to realize he was standing outside of the Head's office. He had completely forgotten that the staircase redirected their route earlier and they were already on the fourth floor. With this in mind, it only took him a few quick internal deductions to place Lily Evans as one of the voices inside. Further employing his top-notch investigative skills, one would have to assume that the deeper, male-sounding voice belonged to her boyfriend.

And continuing on his Sherlockian habits, it only took a millisecond to realize that the laughter and music and content mutterings were equal to that of genuine happiness.

Such a conclusion was simply confirmed when his ears caught onto the sound of four very big words.

The music, whatever it was, had stopped playing and silence allowed James to very clearly hear Cyril's proclamation: "I love you, Lily." This was followed without hesitation by the female voice: "I love you, too."

It felt as though someone had hexed him into oblivion. His body moved of its own accord, turning around and retreating back the way they had come. He was vaguely aware of Ellen MacDonald following his steps, surely confused. If she spoke, though, he wasn't keen on listening. Instead, his thoughts were reeling.

They were happy. Cyril Cooper and Lily Evans _were happy. _There was no way to dispute that any longer. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been trying to convince him of this for months. Now he understood. The information settled uncomfortably over him. He felt a strange betrayal, though not from anyone but himself. His own realization was an abandon of previous loyalty. Years of determination sailed from his being as he, given no other choice, acquiesced to her happiness.

"_Earth to Potter!_"

"Ellen, would you want to have lunch next weekend?"

The words came falling out of his mouth faster than he knew possible. There was not a single thought to cross his mind before that moment. It was as if he suddenly regained all his senses. In a flash, James became aware of the girl beside him and his only instinct was to do everything in his power to leave the happy girl in the other room behind.

"I – um – I guess so, yeah," she said, stumbling over her words and looking up at him with curious eyes.

A moment's hesitance before, "Great."

"You're an odd bloke," she commented with a small smile.

"You have no idea." And with that, he continued walking down the long corridor, uncertain what exactly he was feeling.

_xxx_

"Tell me again why we have to listen to this rubbish?"

Lily sighed, reaching for Cyril's hand. He responded by entwining his fingers around hers, his thumb caressing hers in a gentle sweeping motion. She smiled up at him before snuggling into the crook between his shoulder and neck.

"Because you think I'm swell and I can be mighty convincing when I set my mind to it," she trilled, reaching for her wand and waving it in several intricate patterns while simultaneously muttering a complex charm. The ancient-looking record player in front of her glowed slightly red before settling back into its matte wooden finish. Satisfied, Lily disentangled herself from beside Cyril. Without a moment's hesitance, she reached into her large bag and pulled out the rubbish in question.

To Lily, the record was the farthest thing from rubbish. The Beatle's Abbey Road represented an entire childhood. A relic of her past, the edges were soft and worn; the bottom left had a ragged tear about an inch in length. There were some stains that graced the cover – tea, coffee, perhaps red wine from those late nights of her parents. It had certainly seen better days, but she would not trade it for the world; because this record epitomized her relationship with her father.

Upon its release in September of 1969, Lily Evans came home from school each day and would sit in the parlor with her father. Together they would listen to the record the entire way through, singing along to their favorite parts. Within a month, every lyric and melody was committed to memory. It seemed that, even when sitting in silence or enjoying a different record, Abbey Road was playing on repeat in her mind.

To think about Abbey Road was to think of her father and the way his eyes would sparkle as he softly sang "Here Comes the Sun" to her. Or how he would strum along on his invisible bass guitar to "Come Together." It was a reminder of the silly dance they choreographed to "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" and the belting along with the "Carry That Weight" portion of the Medley.

Lily Evans was not one to share these memories with just anyone. But, she realized after several days of moping around her dormitory and trudging along from class to class, there was something about one's sister being engaged to marry that tends to alter one's perception of things. It makes one more inclined to share things. And who better to share things with than one's significant other?

So with all this in mind, when the opening riff of "Come Together" graciously filled the unused classroom she anxiously turned her attention to Cyril. He sat beside her on the floor with his legs sprawled out in front of him, propped up with his arms. He listened with a stoic face. Lily's heart beat sped up.

"I can't listen when you're staring at me like that," he laughed.

Her cheeks flushed slightly and she lay down on the floor beside him, folding her hands over her stomach and staring at the high ceiling. She heard Cyril shifting beside her but did not direct her attention to him, simply letting her eyes go unfocused and allowing the music to therapeutically wash over her. It wasn't until his body was looming over hers that she had no choice but to look at him again. He smiled down at her.

"Pay attention!" she chided, though the grin that spread over her mouth betrayed her.

"Surely there's a way we can make this record more interesting."

"It is _perfectly_ interesting on its –"

But the thought was quickly cut off by his mouth covering hers in a soft kiss. She hummed happily, her eyes closing and brain momentarily preoccupied. Sometime in the middle of the second track, Cyril pulled back for a breath. Lily took advantage of this moment to duck away from him and gesture wildly to the charmed music player.

"You've missed out on half of two songs!" she cried.

"I like my idea better," he chuckled.

"Can't you please take this seriously?" Lily pleaded, scrambling to her feet and looking down at him with an attempted stern face.

"Lily, it's a record," he sputtered, not entirely able to mask the amused smile on his face.

"Be that as it may," she reasoned, placing her hands on her hips, "it's quite important to me."

"Truly?"

"_Completely_."

He appraised her in silence, the record now transitioning into a new song. Appreciating the quiet, she returned to the floor. This time, however, Lily chose to sit a few safe feet away from her boyfriend, who continued to look at her with an expression she thought rather odd. For reasons she did not quite understand, it unsettled her the way he was looking at her.

But she was thankful for the silence he was now granting her. There were a couple of times she even caught him tapping his foot along. It was physical proof that he was allowing the sound to become part of him, letting this precious album wash over him.

For three quarters of an hour, that's how it was. Cyril sat, eyes closing every now and then as he listened intently. Somewhere around the middle of the album, he lay on his stomach with his head buried in his arms. Lily thought he was sleeping, at which point she nudged him (rather less-than-gently) in the ribs. He let out a disgruntled noise and raised his head, looking up at her as if she were a madwoman.

"I think this might be the most beautiful song I've ever heard," she explained.

"It's creepy," he remarked.

"It's _haunting_, yes. But it is absolutely lovely."

And without another word on the subject, Lily shut her eyes and hummed along to "Because." She was not particularly keen on picking out a favorite song – after all, different songs catered to different needs – but she rather thought that this particular track might be the closest she could get to having a favorite. She couldn't tell why, exactly. The emotional pull she felt for the song was inexplicable. It was almost instinctual, this primitive connection that just _happened_. There were days when all she had to do was think about "Because" – those _harmonies_ – and she would feel chills spread down her spine. It was disconcerting that not everyone welcomed the same sort of reaction.

When the album ended, Lily was laying on her back with her eyes shut against any sights. She was smiling, feeling the warmth and completeness that always occurred after an Abbey Road experience. Perhaps it was the closest she would come to a spiritual encounter – which was silly, considering it was simply a group Muggle blokes playing popular music.

"Well, that was –"

"_Shh_!" She kept her eyes shut, cutting him off. "Let it settle for a minute," she said in a voice just barely above a whisper.

She could hear Cyril shifting and scrambling around a bit before he spoke again, "You're completely mad."

At this, she sat up and her eyes were open. Her hair was a mess from having been sprawled out on the floor where she was laying. "I am not mad, Cy! It's an experience."

"You do know it's only music, yeah?" he said with a laugh.

"It's more than that."

"You practically have feelings for this record."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him with slightly furrowed brows. "Maybe I do," she agreed with a shrug.

"You are an absolute crazy person. I'm dating a madwoman," he muttered fondly.

"Yes, well, you're still here so that must make you crazy, too," she retorted with a proud smile.

"I think I am," he said thoughtfully, coming up beside her and brushing his hand over her wild mane of hair. He kissed her gently. When the kiss faded, he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyelids rose, meeting his warm blue eyes looking back at her. "I love you, Lily."

The words poured from her lips before she could give them a second thought. It was automatic, a complete autopilot moment she had no control over. "I love you, too," she heard herself saying.

She suddenly felt strangled and rather overwhelmed with the desire to vomit.

Somehow, Lily Evans knew that was not the proper physical response when someone professed their love.

But there it was. Those three, magical words were out in the open and she couldn't take them back. He was already pulling her into a deep embrace, smothering her neck in kisses and muttering under his breath all the things he loved about her.

She wanted to scream: this was all a terrible mistake! Cyril Cooper was not supposed to be in love with her because she was not – despite what her daft mouth said – in love with him. In fact, the thought had never crossed her mind before this moment. Yet there she was, allegedly in love. She hadn't the slightest clue how to remedy this situation. And so, in a moment of the most un-Gryffindorlike cowardice, she simply let him go about kissing her.

Lily did know one thing for certain: Abbey Road was now forever tainted with the memory of unwarranted 'I love you's.

_xxx_

Being a Marauder, getting to Hogsmeade on a day when there was not a trip planned proved the easiest part of Sirius Black's Sunday. Properly equipped with the map and James's invisibility cloak, there were no worries of getting caught on his way out of the castle. Even without these, though, Sirius reckoned he would have been fine. Most staff and students were still in bed at seven thirty on a Sunday morning. While he was not due to meet Marlene McKinnon until noon, the anxiety surrounding today had him up before the crack of dawn. He could only lay in bed staring at the hangings of his four-poster bed for so long before the nerves drove him to get ready. So he showered, put on a clean set of clothes, grabbed the map and cloak, and set out on his journey.

He arrived at Hogsmeade without any complications. Had he not been panicking over seeing Marlene, it might even have been a relaxing morning stroll. Autumn was beginning to settle in, laying a blanket of chilly fog over the earth. The sun shone properly, casting a hazy golden glow onto the distant mountains and hilltops. His cheeks and nose were pink with cold, leaving him wishing he remembered a scarf. Stupid, really, considering his maroon-and-gold knitted scarf was hanging off the end of wardrobe. He could envision it quite clearly and cursed himself for not grabbing it.

The entire morning was full of insignificant thoughts meandering through his brain. It was a failed attempt to not think; indeed, the more he focused on _not_ thinking, the faster his mind seemed to process thoughts. They sped rapidly, bouncing around in the corners of his mind until finally he sprawled out onto a bench in the center of town and closed his eyes.

"Oi, Black!" said a voice, followed by several sharp jabs on his side.

He opened his eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the bright light that shone down on him. When he turned his head to the side he could see, through slightly blurry vision, the tall figure of Marlene McKinnon.

"Marlene!" Sirius shot up almost instantly, causing his school bag to tumble to the ground. She reached down and picked it up, raising an eyebrow.

"Merlin, I leave you to your own devices for a week and you're already toting around homework? And on a Sunday, no less. I'm ashamed."

He reached for the bag as she held it out to him, sliding over on the bench so she had space to sit. For a moment, he was caught off-guard by her nonchalant attitude. She seemed all right, joking with him as if nothing was wrong. Admittedly, there was a split second in which he forgot the true reason for meeting her that afternoon.

"Relax, McKinnon. I needed a way to tote around the map, cloak, and mirror," Sirius answered with a smile. As if to put her mind at ease, he opened the top flap of his tan bag and revealed the items described: a carefully-folded piece of parchment, a lightweight silvery material, and the glassy surface of his two-way mirror. When she gave a hum of approval, he refastened the bag and tucked it between his side and the arm of the bench.

"You were sleeping quite soundly," she said with a small smile. "I almost didn't want to wake you."

He laughed, leaning forward with his elbows propped on knees and linking his fingers behind his neck. "It was meant to be a quick nap," he sighed. "I imagine I slept upwards of three-and-a-half hours."

"Three-and-a-half … ? Bloody hell! Why were you here so early?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"There's a first."

He leaned back, turning to look at her. Her golden hair was piled at the back of her head, tendrils framing her face in a haphazard way. A colorful scarf was tied around her head, knotted at the nape of her neck and falling down her back. Even with the bright wardrobe and sunlight streaming through the clouds, though, her weariness was evident. She looked thinner than he remembered, her cheekbones and jawline prominent against her pallid skin. Her eyes were heavy- lidded and lined with dark bags. Marlene McKinnon looked much older than her seventeen years.

"You're not well," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I know that." She stared at her hands, picking mindlessly at her fingernails. "Thank you for coming here. I just – I needed to see you."

"Of course. Anytime. You know that."

They sat in silence for a prolonged moment. Sirius watched her carefully, all too aware of the subtle clenching of her jaw and the rapid rise-and-fall of her chest.

"Marlene –"

"Dad's only got two weeks left, tops." The words poured out of her mouth, the rawness of her voice alarming to her companion. Marlene redirected her attention to Sirius, her eyes glossy and red. "That's what the Healer said. He just keeps getting _worse_, Sirius. Nothing is working. It's like the pain is eating at him from the inside. Hell, maybe it is. I haven't the remotest idea of what sort of Dark Magic those bastards pulled."

"Fuck," he said under his breath. It seemed all he could muster. There was a pounding in his head as he looked at her; he could practically hear the blood rushing through his veins. Each thumping pulse was just a reminder of his health, so mockingly _alive_. On top of that, he felt miniscule, rendered speechless by this revelation of Oliver McKinnon's poor health. "_Fuck_," he repeated, standing up from the bench and pacing back and forth in front of her. His hand jumped to his hair, gripping the roots. "This isn't – I can't – how –" he sputtered, struggling to find coherent words.

Finally he stopped, standing square in front of her. Marlene looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed and biting down on her lower lip. She, too, was at a loss for words. There was a renewed sense of strength, however, as he took in the sight of her. The acceptance of oncoming bereavement was taking its toll on her. She was simply the shell of a girl he once knew. Her shoulders hunched forward and she rounded in on herself, elbows glued to her side and legs tucked under the bench as far as they'd go. Given the prominence of her collarbones and the way her shoulders seemed to jut, he couldn't be sure she was eating properly.

She was a ghost of her former self, and it was killing him.

"I can't go back," he said. At her confusion, he clarified: "To Hogwarts."

"Sirius, no. You can't do this," she pleaded wearily.

"I'm not going back to school when I know you and your family are suffering – in part because of that blasted brother of mine! You'd have to be mad to expect –"

"You know about Regulus?"

"_Yes, Marlene_!" he hissed, kicking at the ground. "You think you might've mentioned that small detail to me?"

"So you could blow up like you're doing now?"

He snorted. "Well lucky you, you missed the big shebang! Found out just before going into the castle on September 1st. If it wasn't for McGonagall's interference, the prat would have actually got what he deserved."

"He's lost, Sirius. He's completely lost. You need to be there to help him."

"Lost my arse. Reg knew exactly what he was getting into when he started hanging around with Snape and that lot."

"I don't know if he did."

The softness of her voice was startling to Sirius, who heaved a sigh and sat back down. He ran his hands wearily over his face before letting them fall into his lap. "All I need to know is he assisted that attack. That's the bottom line."

Marlene reached out a hand, placing it on top of his. Her thin fingers felt cold against his skin. "He couldn't even do a proper Unforgivable."

"Gee, that's quite reassuring, Marlene."

"Don't be bitter. You know what I mean."

"I'm really not sure I do."

She sighed heavily. "I just think he's trying to find himself."

"He's doing a right awful job at it."

"But from his perspective? He's found a group of people who want to help him and teach him, who have his back."

"For fuck's sake, how are you possibly defending him right now?" he cried.

She squeezed his hand tight in hers, using her other to grasp his elbow. She turned her attention full on him, eyebrows knit together in desperation. "Because when your family is falling apart right before your eyes it changes the way you look at things," Marlene said slowly, each word spoken with such deliberation. "You need to be back there. You need to be with your family. And if not for him, then for the family you've chosen."

Sirius could not be sure how this happened. Why was he the one receiving a motivational speech? So far all he had achieved in being here was making a complete arse of himself. Marlene McKinnon had been through so much in the past month alone, yet she was still willing to look beyond flaws and find strength for others. But she needed someone, she needed their strength. She _was_ the family he had chosen.

And without a second thought he closed the gap between them, lacing their fingers together and pressing his lips tenderly against hers. At first, she relented. It was a sweet, innocent kiss; underneath that, however, was a feeling of near-desperation. The hand on his arm tightened its grip, clinging. His fingers tightened around hers, needing to feel the warmth beneath the cold. It did not come, however, for she pulled away without any notice.

Jumping up from the bench, Marlene wiped the remainder of the kiss from her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. She spun on the spot, stamping her feet slightly into the ground and letting out a frustrated groan. Both hand s found their way to the crown of her head, resisting the temptation to pull at the hair piled there.

Sirius slumped back into the bench, his hands sitting awkwardly in his lap as he watched her. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he took in her strange reaction.

"Stop it – no – that can't – _what was that_?" she cried, meeting his eyes finally.

"I'm not going to apologize," he muttered stubbornly. "Just – let me – I don't want to go back to school. It's a waste of time! Let me stay with you, with your family. You and your parents have saved me more times I can count, Marlene. I want to help."

Her arms fell limply to her sides as she looked at him sadly. "You can't fix this. You can't fix _me_."

"I can help. There's a difference."

"No, there isn't," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "You need to let me do this. Anyway, you're forgetting that I'm going back to Hogwarts."

"_Still_? After all this?"

"Well come on, Sirius, what's my alternative? Sitting in a sterile Healer's room while my father dies and my mother loses her grip on reality? That's not going to help anyone – that's what I'm trying to tell you. And _you can't just go about kissing me like that_."

"Too late, because I did. I wanted to. To make you feel better, you know?"

"Newsflash! Being snogged by my best mate only rattles my nerves. It doesn't calm them. If you really want to make me feel better, you'll be back at Hogwarts with me tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow?" _In that moment, he thought her perfectly mad but utterly brave. "You're coming back _to-bloody-morrow_?"

"We've got N.E.W.T.s this year. Catching up from this first week is going to be hellish enough." He eyed her skeptically. "I need to do this. For me. For my parents." She paused, offering a slight smile. "For you."

"For me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I can't have you dropping out on account of me, can I?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again before resigning himself to a sigh. "No," he muttered. "No I suppose you can't."

"Right! Now that we've settled that, I believe there are some school supplies I must pick up. Come along?"

He offered a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The rest of the afternoon passed amiably. The temperature warmed up enough that he was grateful to have forgotten his scarf. His demeanor brightened as he watched Marlene slowly come back to life. Of course, the steps were miniscule. Each quip she made, every sip of Butterbeer, and the bountiful sunshine seemed to be pushing her centimeters closer to the happiness she had before.

Still, he couldn't help but question the validity of her argument. Doubts circulated the thought of returning to Hogwarts. As was always the case, though, his mates won out. He could not imagine leaving James or Remus or Peter behind; and now that he knew Marlene was going to be back, dropping out of Hogwarts seemed positively reckless. While Sirius Black was well-acquainted with recklessness, leaving school at this point seemed to be one step too far.

So, as the sun started to settle behind the hills and trees and their shadows stretched miles in front of them, Sirius said his goodbyes. Marlene was quick to remind him that it was simply a see-you-later and that she would be seeing him in the Gryffindor Common Room before he knew it.

He smiled. "See you later, then."

"Goodnight," she said, throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "Thank you."

"No need for thanks," he countered, returning the hug with all the strength he could muster.

And with that, she took several steps backward and, giving one last wave, Aparated back to London.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know if you did, if you didn't, if you have questions or comments or concerns! Reviews are like oxygen. <strong>

**xx ashley**


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